No Good Comes From
by Bleeding Jazz Gums
Summary: Tony has a specialized compartment in his suit for Sharpies. No good can come of it.
1. Chapter 1

It starts with Tony Stark, because all good and wholesome things do.

Well, okay. Maybe not entirely good, and definitely not wholesome, but definitely awesome and full of win because when Tony Stark does something, whether it's good or really, really stupid, he doesn't do it halfway.

"Nay, Man of Iron. I think this not one of your more brilliant ideas," Thor begins, but Tony, faceplate flipped up and grinning maybe a little maniacally in the back of the Quinjet, only uncaps the permanent marker in reply.

"Tony," Steve begins, disapproving. Behind him, Clint is making frantic thumbs up signs and mouthing 'Winning'. The shadows in his eyes that had rolled in as soon as they'd gotten word Loki was in the area are still there, but there's something bright in them too, bright and fierce and totally thirsting for blood, metaphorical or not.

Tony is only too happy to oblige.

Natasha is navigating the jet, but he caught her approving eyebrow raise when he brandished his weapon of choice.

"Sorry Cap, can't hear you over my awesome." With that said, he launches his assault on an unconscious God of Mischief, tongue sticking out thoughtfully and eyebrows scrunched together as he carefully scribbled along a smooth, crazy-forehead. He can feel Steve's heavy stare on his shoulders, see's Bruce peeking out from one of those scratchy ambulance blankets and watching the whole scene calmly, and tries to focus on the task at hand and not think of the good old doctor naked under that flimsy barrier.

Because, yeah, uncomfortable suit, not a lot of room, lots of other reasons that's not a good idea, blah blah blah.

"I'm thinking 'God of Dickery'," he says thoughtfully, and Clint whoops. "Any inputs?"

"A penis." A feminine voice says from behind him. Clint whoops harder. "Underlining it."

"Creative, Widow. Creative and ruthless. I like it." Tony obliged. "Cap? Got any input?"

Said Captain's lips thinned.

"Is that a no? Jesus, fine, don't go all Fury stare on me, it's worse when there's two eyes instead of one. Well, not really." He hears something like a chuckle in Bruce's vicinity, and resists the urge to tap the arc reactor that doesn't stop the feeling of fluttering somewhere in his chest area. He'll have to remember to check that out later, because seriously, that can't be good. "Barton?"

"Dicks," the archer said with vehemence. "Dicks, all over his face. Dicks on his _eyelids_."

"Taking lessons from Natasha, I see. Good man." With Thor and Steve hovering like mother hens in the background, occasionally clucking and telling him what a bad idea this was and yeah, duh, he knew that, but it was going to be hilarious so really c'mon, he finally finishes his masterpiece and steps back to fully enjoy it.

Even Steve chokes over the finished product.

"You have bested my brother at mischief for now," Thor says, as grave as one could get in a room where there are sharpie dicks drawn all over the sleeping occupants face. "But I fear that this shall come back and dine upon our buttocks."

"I think you mean bite us in the ass." Bruce pipes up. "In which case, you're probably right." He tries to catch Tony's eye in a '_really Stark you just have to push your luck don't you_' look, which Tony neatly evades by capping his marker and storing it with exaggerating flourish in his suit.

"Now that this is settled," he went on, and flipped the faceplate down. A few moments later, and he was flipping it back up. "Good. Got it. We're good." He sent his own thumbs up to Clint, who was grinning maniacally. Steve made a low sound in the back of his throat. "Tony, what did you do?"

"What, me? I didn't do anything. Or, rather, I didn't do anything I haven't done before. I'm sure Fury knows about it, so it's okay, he hasn't ripped my guts out and used them for jump rope yet, so I assume it's all good in the hood."

"Tony…"

"That's my story and I'm sticking to it." At the look on Steve's face, Tony raises his hands. "Alright, alright, calm down there Capsicle. I'm just getting JARVIS to tap into S.H.I.E.L.D. security camera feeds so he can catch the exact moment that dickhead here," he gestures to Loki. The frown on Thor's face deepens, even as Clint bursts out laughing. "Realizes he's become Ironmans personal easel. In fact…"

And here, Tony has the suit re-eject the sharpie. He's not stupid, okay, there are several tests he can and has blown out of the water to prove this, but what Thor said strikes a chord. Honestly, he'd just wanted a bit of fun to get that haunted look from Clint's eyes and stop Natasha from grinding the Quinjets handles to a fine powder with her bare hands. It just ended up as one of those ideas he never really thinks through, the ones where it looks suspiciously like everyone is going to suffer the backlash of his lack of forethought, and damned if that isn't a bitch.

But…

Well, maybe he could take the heat off them. Just a little.

"Tony, what—" But Steve's protest is cut off when Tony makes a flourished TS, as if he was signing off on a check instead of a supervillains upper lip.

There is silence for all of five seconds.

"What did you just do?" Steve chokes out, eyes wide and disbelieving. Thor is looking equally distressed, while Clint's smile widens into something no less than terrifying as he makes grabby hands for the marker. "My turn," he hisses, using his best My precious tone.

"Absolutely not." Natasha says.

"_What did you just do_?" Bruce, now, echoing Steve, sitting up a little straighter in his miniature blanket cocoon.

Tony shrugged. "As if I'd give all the credit to you people," he grins, reckless and avoiding any eyes determined to lock with his.

"Do you even realize what you've just done?" Steve asks lowly.

He waves a dismissive hand. "You know me, Cap." He forced a preen. "Can't help but show off. This was my handiwork, by the way, so I think I deserve at least ninety seven percent of the credit. Natasha gets the rest for the dick-underline."

"Then why aren't her initials on there too?" Bruce demands, not as slouched as before and certainly a bit more tense.

"Um, because I'm the one with the sharpie? Duh."

"Tony…"

Has Tony ever mentioned that he sort of loved Bruce's' Teacher tone? In a really dirty, not safe for work or lab but maybe workshop oh definitely on Fury's desk, that'd show the bastard kind of way. But he digressed.

"When you guys get a sharpie, you can write whatever the hell you want on whoevers face. Excluding mine. Okay? Yeah? Are we good?"

Both Bruces' and Steves' mouths open at the same moment Natasha says, "We're here."

That was totally Tony's cue to jump out of the jet and zoom off to greet Fury with his habitual '_arrrr me matey_!' greeting.

They end up in Fury's office only an hour later, once Loki has been properly detained and there are absolutely no guards where they can see him because_ god fucking damn it, Stark._

"I couldn't help it." He shrugs. "It was hilarious."

Fury doesn't say anything, so Tony totally accepts that as an agreement. He hopes JARVIS tapped into all of the security feeds; he wanted Fury's face when he first saw Loki as his wallpaper for his phone. Walking into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters had been the funniest thing to happen to him since Barton got his head stuck in one of the ventilation shafts when he had tried jumping out upside down to scare Tony in his workshop.

Peoples faces, man. And not just any people, oh no; the workaholic drones who work in S.H.I.E.L.D. and lie to their sick old grannies right to their faces and who only get out of their little bubbles to go get more forms to fill out.

It had been a thing of beauty.

"How long do you think it'll be until he finds out?" He asks the ceiling, head tilted back and resting on the chair. "I mean, Dummy did that to me once after I sent him to time out. It took me _three days_. I went to board meetings. I talked to Pepper. She said _nothing_, the traitor."

"As interesting as that is," Natasha cuts in, sounding the very opposite of enthralled. "We still have the little problem of Stark being a complete and utter moron and basically handing Loki an invitation to attempt to kill him."

Tony shrugs, which was more suppose to look devil-may-care than the '_better me than any of you_' they all apparently take it as. Not that it was wrong, necessarily, but damn it.

"You're an idiot," Bruce says calmly.

"Moron." Natasha agrees.

"My fucking _hero_," Clint grins viciously, although now there's faint worry making its way into the righteous light in his eyes at the small if childish victory.

"Motherfuckers." Fury sighs.

They're strolling now through S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Or, rather, he and Bruce and Steve are. Clint, Natasha and Thor had headed on up to the roof to fly back to the Tower, but Tony is hellbent on getting some goddamn food in him that isn't something from a horrible monotone colored cafeteria.

He's just opened his mouth—most likely to say something awkward or or completely rude that will no doubt escalate into him and Captain Wonder over there having a fight, he can already see Bruce's' lips twitching knowingly from the corner of his eye—when the relative peaceful silence is broken by someone other than him.

Someone screaming.

Horrible, nails-on-a-chalkboard screaming that they shouldn't really have been able to hear all the way up from where they are, but they do, and it's like it's in the room next to them, echoing hard against the walls and assaulting their ears so badly Bruce's blanket slips a little when his hands twitch to cover his ears. The floor beneath their feet literally quakes from the amount of rage in the sound.

When Tony looks over, Steve's eyes are as wide as saucers and Bruce is looking a little green around the edges.

"Whoa there, big guy." He holds out a steadying hand, which makes Bruce look at him with a mixture of wariness and gratitude. "You okay?"

"I think Loki knows," Bruce says instead. Tony blanches.

"What gave it away, do you think?" He wonders.

Steve is already pulling his cowl back on, hefting his shield a little higher as he turns to backtrack to where they're keeping Loki when Coulson, dragging what appears to be two young women behind him with one arm and the psychic power from his brain, or maybe the second woman is just running, whatever, Tony's idea was funnier, stops in front of them. "Take them." He says, breath whistling out from between his teeth. Tony has to resist the urge to poke the arm in a sling.

"What—" Cap begins, but he's taking care of an armful of shaking brunette, and staring down in no little amount of horror. "I… Hello, ma'am." He says weakly.

She never looks up from where her dark, wavy hair is hiding her face, or stop shaking.

"Take them, and leave." Coulson says again, gun now magically in his good hand. "Now, Stark. Captain, would you mind staying behind? We might need you."

"Of course, Agent Coulson." Carefully, he hands the shaking woman off to the panting one, who keeps looking over her shoulder worriedly. Tony has already taken out his phone—absolutely _delighted_ to see his new wallpaper—and is talking fast with Happy who needed to have gotten here fifteen minutes ago.

"Happy's on his way," he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "With liquor, 'cause this seems like an alcohol kind of day."

A low keening noise is starting to come from the woman, and even Bruce takes a step back. Coulson doesn't blink, which only further proves Tony's theory the MIB movies were based off this guy. He'd first thought the man was an android, but the thought that there was someone out there that could build a better 'bot than him grated like nothing else.

And the idea that Coulson built himself was just laughable.

Except Coulson was sending him that knowing flat look with one eyebrow just the barest bit higher than the other, so that's supporting one of his other theories that he's psychic.

"Take them to the Tower, and then standby. Do you understand?" Coulson goes on. A stray S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent bolts passed, caught only by Coulsons outstretched foot that sends them cartwheeling midair for a moment before landing painfully. Steve squeaks. "Get back to securing the perimeter," he says mildly.

The Agent stutters out an affirmative and runs back in the direction he came from, albeit slower than before.

"You're vicious," Tony decides.

"Professional." He calmly corrects.

The girl is starting to make the sound of a balloon that hasn't been tied right, all the air whistling out slowly, and to be honest it's starting to freak Tony the fuck out.

"Get them out, get to the Tower, standby." Coulson repeats, and then he and Cap are off and leaving a naked doctor and a freaked out Tony behind with a woman staring at them with wide eyes, arms wrapped securely around the one shaking.

"So…" Tony begins. "Hi."

"You're Tony Stark," the woman breathes.

"Ah, yup, that's me. This here is Doctor Bruce Banner," he gestures to Bruce, who gives this little awkward wave, still wrapped in what's got to be the most uncomfortable blanket ever but he's not complaining, and it's seriously the cutest thing. "AKA the Hulk."

"Tony," Bruce mutters reproachfully, and he shrugs. They're starting to walk now, or more like shuffle along, and there are still more Agents running back and forth a hell of a lot more faster than they are.

"Uh, not to put unnecessary strain on little miss here, but we should probably get going. Y'know, faster. Slow and steady wins the race, but you know what? I had turtle soup last week, and let me tell you, that little dead turtle spirit was probably kicking itself all the way to little turtle heaven. Or little turtle hell."

The shaking becomes more pronounced. Tony, naturally, panics.

"Uh. I'm sure the turtle was killed very humanely. Or maybe not? I think they boil them alive or something; or is that crab?" Oh Christ. This wasn't as bad as it looked, right? Bruce was over there, shuffling along with that sort of half smile on his face, so it couldn't be that bad, right? Right? "Look, Jesus, can you just get her—"

"_Dicks_," the shaking girl whispered brokenly. Tony paused.

"…Pardon?"

"Dicks!" She wailed, fisting her hands in the shirt of the woman holding her. "Dicks were on his face! _Oh god_!"

Even Bruce looked stunned at this, so Tony felt it justified to gape. "You…"

It clicked.

"You saw Loki?"

The woman, who looked near faint with terror just a few moments ago, now looked ready to step up and scold the Hulk. "You saw Loki?" She shrieked, dropping her arms. The girl stumbled.

"There were dicks on his _eyelids_." Tears, _literal actual fucking tears Tony already knew he was going to love this girl_, were streaming down her face. Her cheeks were trembling, but her fiercely huge grin didn't waiver for a moment.

"I like you," Tony decides on the spot. He thinks the sound he hears to his left is Bruce facepalming, but he doesn't look over to check. "What's your name?"

"Darcy. Darcy Lewis." She waves a vague hand to her friend, and nearly ends up smacking her in the face. "Jane Foster, girlfriend of Thor, scientist, stick in the mud, you name it."

"I am n—" Jane Foster begins, which is conveniently cut off but the building not so conveniently _begin to tremble_.

"That's our cue to a) get the fuck out of here, b) go superhero, or c) die." Tony says calmly.

"I don't like option C," Darcy begins, already picking up the pacing, and Jesus that grin has not fallen from her face even once. Tony would bet a large chunk of money that she's had that grin for a while now. "And option B sounds suspiciously like option C for us."

"It does, doesn't it?" He says cheerfully, now running down S.H.I.E.L.D. hallways with a not so surprisingly quick Bruce and Jane on his heels. "Damn, he's pissed. He wasn't even fully coherent when we brought him in. What did you _do_?"

"There were dicks. On his_ face_." Her voice is flat.

"I didn't know anyone had authorization to be down there besides Director Fury and Agent Coulson," Bruce says quietly from behind him. Which, huh, good point.

Silence.

"Holy shit," Tony blurts out, delighted, even as Jane starts making half assed excuses for her and the Darcy girl nearly runs into a wall laughing herself silly. "You broke into a S.H.I.E.L.D. holding cell?"

"Broke into is such an ugly phrase," Darcy cackles. Actually _cackles_. "It's more like borrowing without asking."

"You borrowed a supervillain?"

"More like borrowed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s time with a supervillain."

"I like her." Tony tells Bruce, grinning fiercely over his shoulder. "Can we keep her?"

"Papa Stark." She bats her eyelashes at him.

They're in S.H.I.E.L.D. lobby when the walls shudder and almost seem to _flex_. Grip tightening on the suitcase handle of the suit, he sends a calculating glance to Bruce. "You okay, big guy?"

"Dude!" Darcy is inching closer to Bruce, who appears to be shaking a bit, and that's not good for anybody. "You're looking like a cracked glow-stick."

"…Thank you?"

"It's _cool_."

"Told you." Tony grins.

"Aren't we suppose to be getting out of here?" Fosters voice is just a few shades high of calm, wringing her hands in front of her and glancing around worriedly while Tony cheerfully ignored her and checked his phone.

"Well, Widow copies, but she's not about to pull a U-turn unless someone is dead or dying. Or Coulson calls." Bruce doesn't ask him why. "And I'm pretty sure Happy is out front, so, ladies?" He offers his arms. Darcy is the only one to take it.

"So," she says, even as they hurriedly step outside and slide into the car Happy has pulled up to the curb. "Can we get pizza tonight?"

The look Foster sends her makes Tony burst out laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't reply to reviews often, unless there's a specific question or inquiry about it or it's- y'know, batshit and I love it- but I want everyone to know that even if I don't reply, all of your reviews are absolutely and totally loved and appreciated. Seriously. You guys are fabulous and wonderful and no adjective and only a few verbs can aptly describe you._

* * *

As it turns out, Loki somehow ends up escaping. Tony isn't too surprised by this, because, yeah. Short of stabbing his own magic staff through Loki's face, he doesn't really think they'll ever be fully rid of him. Which, y'know, Tony would be more than happy to do, if Coulson didn't have first dibs.

Oh, and Thor's family ties.

But nobody dies, so that's a good thing. A few minor injuries, a bit of property damage, but nothing major, just Fury furious as always. Heh.

The thing is, 'Standby' apparently means 'Babysit the civilians in the Tower, stop calling me every five minutes Stark, stop it, I'll have Miss Lewis taser you, I swear I will'. Which Tony finds out isn't just an idle threat once Thor arrives and greets them both with huge rib cracking hugs.

"Lady Darcy! Lady Jane!" He crows gleefully. "It is the greatest of pleasures to see you both unharmed and well!"

"W-we're happy to see you too, Thor," Jane croaks. Darcy is chanting 'Oh god, oh god,' under her breath, hands twitching toward her bulky sweater that looks to be-ah, yup. There's a taser in there. Well.

Thor set them down, a fierce grin over his face. "My friends! It pleases me greatly you are here." It's interesting, watching Thor shift between facial expressions. The transition, on most people, would blend; smoothly going from one feeling to another. Thor, as he does with everything else, is barely finished with the first expression before he's charging into a new one. In this instant, his grin is replaced with a just as fierce frown. "But I fear the reason. S.H.I.E.L.D. had informed me that you were safely away from such destruction and mayhem that me and my brothers in arms are fighting against."

Jane's hands have somehow become caught up in his, both of them making serious googly eyes at each other in a way that made Tony want to gag. Or wish he had a certain scientist to googly eye.

Wait, no.

Gagging, let's go back to gagging. Yes.

"Uh." It's Darcy who answers. "Somehow Loki has become pissed off." Her voice is deceptively innocent.

"Yes," Bruce says from behind him, colored faintly with amusement. Tony turned slightly toward him. "'Somehow'."

The look Darcy sends him has Tony choking on his own spit. Bruce, pal that he is, claps him on the back forcefully.

"Better?" He asks.

"Oh so much."

Huh. Thor and Jane are still making googly eyes. That's a little disconcerting; he'll have to remember to give them their own floor. A soundproof floor. Before he could open his mouth and make the invitation, there was a heavy palm on his shoulder, consequently sending him into a half shrieking, half yelping fit.

"Jesus Christ!" He shouted, one hand pressing hard against the arc reactor whirring in overtime while he whirled to face Clint. "Can't you make some kind of noise? Anything? No? Fine, fuck you, I'll have JARVIS moo when you come into the room."

"_I must protest most vehemently, Sir._" JARVIS commented dryly, jolting two of the seven occupants in the living room.

"Holy fuck," Darcy says.

"My brother has become enraged?" Thor's frown became more pronounced. "I do not understand. The last I have seen he was in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s facility, securely held." His eyes, widening with understanding and accusation, suddenly cut to Tony. "Has my brother discovered your folly among his person?"

"Well, yes." Tony admits.

"You have wrought this ill will upon Lady Jane and Lady Darcy?" He rumbled, taking a step towards Tony, who unabashedly backed up four and maybe might have stepped behind Bruce for good measure.

"No." He pointed at Darcy. "She did."

The god turned to said busty brunette, who threw her hands up defensively. "In my defense," she began. "It was hilarious. Also, Stark's fault. There were dicks involved. Dicks drawn on eyelids."

"To be fair," Tony cut in. "That was Clint's idea." He jerked a thumb to the archer, who smirked like the cat who ate the canary at Darcy before shifting his attention to Thor. "Loki's pissed?" He asked expectantly, shooting Tony a raised eyebrow.

"It appears so," Thor went on slowly, intently watching Darcy, who squirmed under the attention. "Lady Darcy, what is it you've done to my brother?"

"Um. Nothing?"

"_Lady Darcy..._"

As it turns out, Darcy is pretty much freaked out by Thor using the same tone her mother use to use on her when she found little Darcy surrounded in candy wrappers and a bloated iguana. Tony doesn't ask, but it's close. Bruce, the bastard, distracts him with a naked shoulder as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, because apparently listening to how Darcy managed to piss off another god is more important than going and getting clothes and letting Tony keep his sanity.

"Okay look it totally wasn't my fault," she says after a moment, huffing out a breath and ruffling her hair from her face. "Well, half of it. Mostly. The other half was Starks fault, I am many things, but I am not the kind of person with strong enough morals to not laugh at a sharpied dick on someones face."

This startles a laugh out of Bruce, which makes the blanket shake, and yeah, Tony needs to look someplace else now.

"Wasn't he suppose to be in some kind of cell?" Clint asks casually, perched on top of the back of the couch like a goddamn parakeet. Natasha, beside him, has her legs crossed elegantly and is leaning back against the couch lazily.

The girl has the decency to flush a little, but Tony see's her fighting back a grin, and judging by Clint's answering smirk, he does too. "Okay, yeah." She admits. "It's not like I was actually in the cell with him, okay? They have this like, security footage room. I ninja'd in."

"You-" Bruce blinks.

"Ninja'd in. Yes. I'm a ninja. Tell'em, Thor."

"Lady Darcy is a most fine warrior of the night!" Jane, who has taken residence in Thor's lap, jumps about a foot in the air but doesn't actually disentangle her fingers from his hair at the resounding boom that is Thor's voice.

Said warrior of the night leers at Bruce. "See?"

"Duly noted, Miss Lewis." He drawls.

She nods approvingly. "Anyway though yeah. They had like, fifty cameras on him, and I just wanted to see, okay?"

"Let me guess," Tony cuts in, draping himself across one of the armchairs and letting the suit clank to the floor heavily. "You saw a pretty button and accidently-maybe-on-purpose pressed it, and he either figured it out or you told him. How close am I?"

It was actually Jane who spoke up, looking for all the world like she could basically set up camp on Thor's lamp and live there happily for the rest of her days. "Pretty close. She actually tried to get me in there." Here, she coughed. "She tried using ASL with the security cameras to get me to come."

"Wasn't that a little bit overkill though?" Tony said, just at the same time that Steve blinked and asked "ASL?", looking around. "I mean, I could understand being pissed, really, I could, but he threw a fit like a fifteen year old girl dumped before prom."

"Yeah." Darcy raised her hand as if she were being called on in class. "My bad."

"What did you do?"

"Did you know you could project video feed into that room for anyone to see?" She asked cheerfully. There was silence in the room as everyone tried to process that.

"Oh my god," Clint said. "Have sex with me." Which prompts Natasha to elbow him off the back of the couch.

"Coulson actually_ likes_ her." Natasha said mildly, making Darcy preen.

"Thank you." She beams. "Y'know, sometimes. He still hasn't given me back my iPod, which is seriously like doing an Unforgivable Curse from Harry Potter; you do not pass go, you do not collect two hundred dollars, you go straight to friggin' Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" Steve asked, again, helplessly.

Tony hissed. "How dare you say such a thing in this house? Tower, whatever. I will not have such filthy heathen things be uttered under this roof. Thor, wash Darcy's mouth out with soap; her tongue needs to be cleansed. On second thought, use holy water. Nothing else will cleanse the air of that sad excuse of a music player. I will be down in the workshop."

"What is this water, and why does it have holes?" Thor demanded while Bruce explained Tony's general hive-like reaction to Apple products to a morally offended Darcy.

When Tony goes down into the workshop, it's usually for one of three reasons; either he's physically strained, emotionally strained, or he actually really wants to get some work done. The last reason has been occurring far more often than it has in the past, but he'll use eye drops where the active ingredient is_ snake venom_ before he admits that it might actually have something to do with all the absolutely certifiable people taking residence in his Tower. Because it definitely doesn't. He's just been having a lot of good ideas lately, okay?

Fortunately(?), no matter what the reason, he usually spends an obnoxious number of hours working on_ something_.

As long as his hands are busy, he has something to focus on besides the constant buzzing of his thoughts, leapfrogging from one thing to another. It was entirely too easy to spend days on end down there with just his 'bots for company... Not that it was a hardship, exactly. He adored his 'bots, and solid food was for old people, so he had no real objection to locking himself down there until his stomach stopped growling altogether and sleep was like a myth.

It was JARVIS and Pepper who were the party poopers, making him do all that normal boring stuff like sleep and go to meetings and remember to eat. Though he'd had a general lapse of periodic-Pepper visits since she'd taken over as CEO, JARVIS had taken his duties as mother hen ridiculously serious around that Palladium incident and had roped Dummy into his evil protective clutches as well.

"_Sir, it's currently dinner time. Agent Barton has taken the liberty of ordering pizza, and would like to know when you are going to 'get your billionaire ass up here'_." JARVIS interrupted in smooth tones over the sound of Tony welding...

Something. Huh. What had that been?

"JARVIS," he says disapprovingly, cutting out the torch and pushing up his goggles. "What have I told you about cursing?"

"_That I am 'unable to pull it off' and 'must cease immediately, Jesus Christ, are you serious with this'_." JARVIS quoted dutifully. "_I really must insist, however, Sir, that you set aside your work and go and eat._"

"You're absolutely right," Tony muttered around a wrench he'd just stuck in his mouth, digging his fingers into the circuits of the metal in front of him and trying to remember what the hell it was exactly. "And I will get right on that. Inna minute."

"_Sir._"

"Seriously JARVIS I will get right on that, I swear, really, you know me, I just gotta finish this... Thing, and I'll definitely get up there and bond or whatever in a few, just let me get this."

"_Sir..._"

"Why is it that no one believes me when I say that? JARV, seriously, untwist your metaphorical panties. I'll get up there eventually. Just, uh, tell Thor to remember to share, okay? And if Barton orders anchovies, you cut that asshole off-"

Twenty five excruciating minutes later, Tony is stomping up the stairs to the living room, towel in hand and hair damp, and still rubbing foam from his clothes.

"What," Natasha said blandly as soon as she caught sight of him. Clint, beside her, began to choke on his bite of pizza.

"What happened?" Steve poked his head out of the kitchen, eyes widening as he saw Tony. "Are you okay? You didn't set anything on fire again, did you?" The man actually took a half step out towards him, hands raising hesitantly.

"What? No. Jesus, Cap, what do you take me for?" Natasha was helpfully pounding Clint on the back. While the archer was distracted, Tony nimbly stole his pizza from his plate. "Things don't catch on fire unless I want them to be on fire."

"That time with the Peeps and the microwave?" Bruce asks from a huge plush leather armchair, quietly munching at his own VeggieMite pizza and-damn it-no longer naked, dressed instead in a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatpants and shirt.

"Entirely Thor's fault."

From behind an extra large pizza box, Thor's head poked up accusingly. "You swore not to tell!"

"So what did happen?" Steve asked curiously, settling down next to Thor on the couch with his neat little folded napkin and plate, which he proceeded to pile high with delicious baked goodness.

"Thor's girlfriends assistant told him if he put Peeps in the microwave long enough, they'd turn into actual birds." Tony mumbled around a mouthful of Clint's pizza, who had regained enough composure to start making grabby hands at it.

"He wouldn't believe me when I told him, so we just sorta... Y'know, did it. Was fun."

"Verily." Thor nodded, a pepperoni making itself home on his beard.

"...I meant with you covered in..." Steve waved. "That stuff."

"This? It's flame-retardant foam. And it's JARVIS's fault. He's a traitor; got Dummy to set the fire extinguisher on me. Again."

"_Just trying to warn you, Sir._" JARVIS says, so deadpan that no one was quite sure if he was telling the truth or not.

Tony's favorite part about living with people is the silences. And yeah, yeah, he knows how that sounds; but it's no less true. As opposed to the silences of living alone, when there's silence with others in the room, it's usually(not all of the time, mind you. They get along, sure, but they're not friggin' Gandhi's and Mother Teresa's) because nothing needs to be said. It's a comfortable silence that says a hell of a lot even if nobody speaks.

That's the major difference between living with people and living alone; with living alone silences, they're cold and weigh like stones. Lonely, making you acutely aware of just how alone you really are. Tony likes the times they get together and can just... Be quiet. And however corny it sounds, not just because he's getting a break of Barton's constant smart-assery.

Uh oh. Bruce is watching him again. He'd been doing that a lot lately, actually; and while Tony would not normally object to being stared at by a sexy rumpled Bruce Banner with heavy lidded eyes, he's got that concerned-worried look on his face that makes his mouth turn down sharply at the corners and his forehead crinkle adorably.

Except yeah, Bruce looks worried and Bruce is also looking at him and that makes him feel absurdly guilty-he doesn't know what he's done wrong this time to deserve the Worried Stare(or all the other times he's been on the receiving end of it... well, okay, most of the other times) but Tony figures it must've been a doozy to get him riled up so quickly.

He wants to instinctively apologize to Bruce-there's many things he'd like to do to the scientist, but worry him isn't one.

Contrary to popular belief, Tony, in fact, hates making people worry.

...Okay, rather, he hates making people who _matter_ worry. There is a very distinct difference, since he has no problems whatsoever making someone like, say, Fury worry(and for good reason, thank you very much, the pirate-_asshole_), but when it's someone close to him...

Whatever, Tony just doesn't like to do it.

And because life hates him, that's all he seems to be able to do.

"Uhm-" Steve began hesitantly, effectively ending those less than pleasant thoughts. Good Steve. "Where's-?"

"Science girl and her taser happy sidekick?" Tony cut in helpfully. "JARVIS?"

"_Miss Foster is in the labs,_" JARVIS said, sounding just the faintest bit _amused_. The hell? "_Miss Lewis is attempting to sync her iTunes playlist into me._"

"What?" Tony sat up straighter, pointing his slice of pizza at the nearest security camera. "I hope you're not listening to her."

"_...Of course not, Sir._"

The theme song to what sounded suspiciously like Gilligan's Island began to play.

"I'm going to go get a shower." Bruce drawled, getting up and taking his neatly folded ambulance blanket with him out of the room. Clint ended up guffawing at Tony's immediate reaction-which was to scrunch up his expression in the facial equivilant of the hand grabbing motion of 'Gimme.'

He got a pizza to the face for his efforts, and Tony sent a not so subtle grateful wink to Natasha, who raised her glass of wine only the barest bit before taking a sip.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, I, I recently got a review from an anon named Beth.  
_

Beth:I love your comedy- you are very good at it. Personally, I probably shouldn't be reading it, cause I"m like four weeks before I"m due to have a baby, and laughing this hard kinda hurts, but hey, it's not like I can go out in this heat and do anything fun right now anyway.

_Beth, I'd like to tell you that this is probably one of the greatest reviews ever. I don't know why I'm so excited a pregnant woman is reading my Scienceboyfriends, but I am. I don't think I've ever legitimately felt the need to add _"May induce early labor"_ on any of my fics, ever, but I sort of do now, and I thank you for it._

_So, Beth, if you're reading this, thank you for the awesome review, and I sincerely hope that all goes well in the upcoming four weeks and after. If you want to name your child after me, too, well, I wouldn't be so rude as to object.  
_

* * *

"Ironman! Down!"

Tony Stark is a lot of things. He's named most of them before(playboy, philanthropist, billionaire, et cetera), and a lot of them aren't good. Hell, _most_ of them aren't good. And he's working on that, really.

And Tony doesn't know if this counts as a characteristic or simply some freakish outside source that constantly plagues him, but he is always late. Meetings, galleries, showings, auctions-whatever. If there's even a slight possibility that whatever he's going to has a time frame or schedule, he's going to be late to it. He probably should've taken the hint sometime around when his first(and third, and eighth...) girlfriend came up and told him that her monthly guest was reluctant to visit.

(It turns out that, yes, Girlfriend One was pregnant, which leads to quite a bit of panic, mostly from him. It takes him two and a half months to realize that she'd been seeing someone else behind his back and couldn't possibly have gotten pregnant from him, since he'd spent the previous month and a half when the supposed conception had taken place down in his workshop with barely enough free time to eat and pass out,_ let alone conceive a child_.)

But, yeah. It hardly matters what it is, he'll be late to it. Ten minutes, fifteen, and that one time over five hours; it's not like he does it on purpose, it's just, yeah, time is sort of inconsequential in comparison to, say, an upgrade on the repulsors or new arrowheads for Barton. There's just more important things than keeping track of what time it is.

So whether it _is_ an unfortunate part of his personality, or there's an unlucky star out there that just really, really likes(or dislikes) him, Tony cannot help but be late.

At least he has something to blame when he turns around, precious seconds after Cap's franticly yelled warning, and gets a magically hardened mannequin to the face.

It's like getting tackled by the fucking Hulk- all destruction energy and strength focused solely on him(and his _face_, ow,_ fuck_), sending him flying unceremoniously through the glass of a not-so-nearby shopfront, self-aware puppet and all. There's distorted shouting over the comm, but he's wheezing too hard to really communicate that he's okay, alright, Jesus fucking Christ just _shut up_.

He's cradled in the remains of a demolished checkout counter, one leg hoisted over the worse for wear cash register while his left hand clawed desperately at his front. He's still struggling to get in air, and it's a slow process; slow enough that he's starting to panic a little because he's getting a little woozy and there's something pressing jagged edges into part of his face that's slowly going numb.

"Cap," Tony croaks once there's enough air in his lungs to form coherent words, even if they're slightly distorted by lips that feel too cold. "Need you on my six here. Or twelve. Whatever fucking time it is."

"_Ironman! Give me your coordinates, I'll send Hawkeye or Widow to you-_"

And- yup, the mannequin is still moving, torso caved in with the imprint of the Ironman faceplate as it's body jerked and twisted to right itself, broken glass and bits of wood and metal imbedded deep. Ominously, the joints creak as the empty face and hunched body turned to him.

"Oh, fuck," he snarled-or had meant to snarl, but instead it came out as a slurred, hoarse mutter. "What the fuck is this, a Doctor Who rerun? Why won't you die?"

"_Doctor Who and Austin Powers in one sentence,_" Hawkeye jokes on the comm, the effect ruined by how out of breath he sounds. "_Nice, Stark_."

"I'm so glad you approve." He wheezed back, activating the boosters on the bottom of his boots so that he sort of slides across the floor like a goddamn sled in order to avoid the fucking self-aware Macy store mannequin that is now using its dislocated arm as a club. "Wanna lend some-_motherfucker_!"

"_Ironman!_" Capsicle shouts again. "_Widow, Hawkeye, I want you there now- JARVIS, can you-_"

"No!" Damn it, he's still wheezing, but at least he's getting enough oxygen to his brain to catagorize the damages while(admittedly not very well) avoiding half assed clumsy swings of a goddamn mannequins arm. "No, I got this. You guys find dickhead and I'll-" Tony grunted as he was sent skidding back a few feet, taking the brunt of a new swing with the backs of his forearms. One repulsor is out, and there's a minor delay on joint reaction in his right elbow; he thinks the faceplate might have caved in from the attack, can't worry about it now, can't worry about how the edges of the left side of his face are tingling or the fact he can't _feel_ the left side of his face. "-I'll take care of this assclown."

"_Iron-_" But he's turning off his comm now, trusts that his team-holy shit, when did that happen?-knows how to handle themselves and trusts they trust him to do the same.

It's a misplaced kind of trust, not entirely justified, and he knows it and they know it, but they really can't do anything about it now, now can they?

"JARVIS, get me a damage estimate on the suit."

His only answer was a crackle of the radio-which meant some kind of transmission was blocking his signal to the Tower... But the commlinks still worked. So either it was an interruption meant for a specific target, which would be JARVIS, or there was a range on it.

"I have a feeling if you had a mouth you'd be wearing this shit eating grin right about now, spouting some crap about world domination via K-Mart low prices and whatnot," Tony contemplates out loud, maybe just the tiniest bit more confident now that his legs are under him and he can properly balance and actually move. "Am I right or am I right?"

As if to argue the point, the puppet from hell tilts its head, where its face _literally splits from side to side_ to reveal three rows of jagged, needle like teeth that curve very noticeably inward. He can see where the metal from the torso is poking up and connecting the head, and when it tilts the other way, the sound of shrieking metal fills the destroyed shop.

"Well." Tony says, understandably freaking the fuck out. Just a little. "Okay."

It launches at him again, upper half of its head tilting back far as it nears his face as if it wants to swallow him whole, and Tony really wishes Barton was around to see how he no-nonsense pulled up his repulsor to shoot the fucker dead center. "Here," he says helpfully, as it clamps down on his gauntlet and starts grinding and biting away, limbs flailing and making enough high-pitched noise that makes him wince even inside the suit. "Have a bite."

He fires, and it's probably a good thing nobody can see just how much teeth are showing in his smile as the thing blasts through two solid walls and lands in a smoking, unmoving pile of melted plastic and metal, because the stupid S.H.I.E.L.D. shrinks pee all over themselves whenever Tony comes around and they are really the_ last_ people he wants poking around inside his head.

Adrenaline is still riding high, but he somehow manages to find the will to restrain himself from doing a running-leap out of the shopfront window, if just barely, and only because he wants to see the jealous outrage on Bartons face when he see's Tony saunter out the front door on Youtube recorded from someones cell. He takes a deep breath and-ouch, yeah, that's sort of a bitch, but all the sensors are working and everything's still online, so he should probably turn the comm back on.

"_...To Ironman now! I want a confirmed visual! Widow, your six-_"

"Awe, Cap." Tony drawls. "I didn't know you cared." It's a little tricky flying with only three thrusters, but whatever, he can totally do this. If he clips a street sign on his way up, well, Jesus, what was it doing there?

"_Ironman! Where have you been? Are you injured?_" Cap demands, just a little breathless. Tony kicks up the speed.

"Nah." It wasn't really a lie, right? He didn't technically know if he was or not, so it was more like a Schrödinger's cat type of deal. "How're you guys doin' down there?"

"_These are mighty foes!_" Thor roars, letting out an echoing battle cry that he is pretty sure he can hear not just over the comm but from in the sky as well. "_A worthy opponent for a Son of Odin!_"

"Glad you're havin' fun, Blondie."

Widow now, sounding like someone just spit on her cupcake and assured her it was frosting. "_These-_" She spits something out in Russian that makes him glad JARVIS isn't around to translate. "_Will not die._"

"_Maybe it's like a zombie thing?_" Hawkeye pipes up. "_Stab'em in the head or sever the head or something?_"

Tony makes a thoughtful noise, mind racing. "Has anyone had one of them show those pretty pearly whites?" He asks flippantly. "Cause, yeah, I might have pissed off the one that was used as a bat for my face, and he showed me that pretty smile in no time."

"_Smile? What the hell are you talking about, Star- Oh my god! Natasha! What the fuck?_" Barton is actually squealing like a twelve year old girl over the line, and Tony is laughing hard enough to realize that, yeah, that's not a good idea right now, what with the caved in faceplate and what have you.

"_Status report!_" Cap barks.

"_Nat just- Jesus fuck, that was- oh Christ._"

"_They like me,_" Widow deadpans. "_They really like me._"

"I'm going to assume then that you've seen them open wide," Tony says blandly.

"_Yes._"

"Alright. Aim for the... Uh, I guess the metal neck part? They open up pretty wide, so you can't really miss it. Is there some kind of technical term for that?"

"_Focus, Ironman._"

"Got it, got it."

"_Hey, could I get a little help here?_" Voice rougher than usual, Barton is growling obscenities into the comm; Tony's just arrived back on the scene, can see Thor happily smashing through wave after wave of posessed mannequins next to a busy Hulk who appears to be having a smashgasm. He catches sight of Cap's shield whizzing around, cutting off limbs and torso's-he doesn't see Natasha, and doesn't know if that's creepier than watching her lose her cool or not, and then decides he doesn't want to know.

"Where you at, Laser Eyes?"

"_Third tower to your left, top floor before the roof. Fuckers are swarming like goddamn iRobot._"

Tony is already off, eyes(eye, eye, he just lost sight in the left one, fuck, _fuck_) on the tower, can see a faint twinkle of as Barton's arrowheads catch the light right before he lets them fly. "I see you." He says deliberately into the line.

"I got it. I'm on Barton."

"_Copy that._"

And, ha, would you look at that, Barton was right; distorted and grossly misshapen puppets are digging their hands and feet into the building, crawling up and over each other as they try to reach the archer. "Would this make me Sonny or Will Smith?" He wondered, flying down low and shooting the fuckers with his last working repulsor. It was slow work, and annoying as all hell, but there's relief blooming in his aching chest when he turns his head and he can feel the feeling return to his face-even if it's white hot pain. He still can't exactly see out his left eye, but it's more of a cloudy grey than the pitch black it had been, so whatever; he'll take what he can get.

"_What the hell?_" Barton said, but he sounded amused. "_If anyone is Will Smith, it's me._"

"Eh. Can't say I appreciated the bot hatin' in that movie; although having JARVIS say 'My logic is undeniable' was hilarious for days."

"_You'd be the girl,_" he said helpfully. "_Y'know, the hot brunette who totally had a thing for all the robots-_"

"Ewww. I'm not going to be your love interest, Barton."

"_Suck it, Stark._" Barton said cheerfully, managing to hit one of them in the face and knock down a neat little row as it lost its footing on the building and took the rest of its posse down with it.

"Blow me, Barton."

Ah. Team bonding.

It takes them the rest of the day and most of the night to finish off the rest of them, in which Natasha ends up with a dislocated shoulder(and conveniently doesn't tell them until they reach the Quinjet), Bartons fingers and hands were bleeding, Cap had a nasty gash along his forehead, Bruce still hadn't changed back and Hulk was looked quite pleased with himself while being pounded on the back by Thor who could give proud, doting mothers' expressions a run for their money.

"I'm not touching that," was all Barton said.

"Man of Iron!" Thor shouted joyfully, smile so wide that Tony was sure he was putting those freaky ass puppets to shame. "It is good to see you unharmed. Our giant green friend has been quite worried as to your safety."

"No problem, big guys." He assured. "Suit's just a bit dented up."

"That looks a bit extensive for just 'dented up'," Natasha murmured, eyebrow raised knowingly. "If it was, you'd have flipped the faceplate up already."

Stupid all-seeing assassins.

Going for lofty and unconcerned, Tony shrugged. "Must've damaged one of the release clips," he drawled. "No big deal."

She scoffed. "You're in a damaged metal deathtrap molded for your body. What part of this isn't a big deal?"

"Enough arguing," Steve ordered in his best no bullshit tone. "We'll check with medical after we leave. Everyone."

He pointedly looked at Tony, while Tony pointedly looked away. "For now, I want confirmation that all of these... Things," he kicked at the unmoving leg of one of the mannequins, dressed a floral dress with a K-Mart tag. "Won't be coming back to life once we're gone."

Again, he shrugged. "As far as I can tell. None of'em have gotten back up now, have they? I say we're good here. I'll catch you guys back at the Tower." Except that when he fired up his thrusters, barely having wobbled his way into the air(the adrenaline was wearing off, okay?), his boot was caught with a huge green palm.

"Uh," he said.

"No fly." Hulk rumbled, eyebrows drawn down low and mouth curved down in displeasure. "Smashed."

"What?"

If possible, Hulks frown deepened. "Smashed," he said purposefully, pulling him down with just that one hand and using the other to gesture vaguely at the suit. "No fly. Come." Apparently confident that all that needed to be said had been said, Hulk then proceeded to drag Tony by his one boot back towards the landed Quinjet. Arms wheeling around wildly, he tried to ignore how bad Barton was laughing as he stumbled over explanations and assurances that he was fine, could he at least turn the damn thrusters off, this was a little ridiculous he could still _walk_.

He ends up sitting next to a surprisingly quiet Hulk, who's got one arm over his shoulders and resting on the seat beside him like an overprotective blanket made entirely of muscle, which is a lot more comforting than one would think. Barton is flying, since nobody was notified Natasha was actually injured until she walked up to a blinking Steve, tore his glove off to grit between her teeth and brace her body against his chest while using his arm to give her leverage enough to pop her own shoulder back in.

Tony jerks back in reflex while Steve's face goes very pale to very green very, very quickly.

"Thank you, Captain." Natasha says, her usual calm voice sounding strained at the edges.

"Jesus, Nat." Barton muttered from up front. "Don't break Captain America."

"It's fine," Steve said, voice pitched just a little high. "Um."

From his position beside a lightly fidgeting Hulk, Tony choked back a laugh. Because this was his life and it was weird and really fucking strange, especially these people whom he's given his alliance to, and whom has given him their alliance, and wow, wow, yeah, that's a nice, warm thought.

"M'gunna sleep now," he mumbled against a big green ribcage.

"Stark, Tony, that's probably not the best-"

But there's rumbling going on somewhere, nice, soothing rumbling, and it's already carrying him off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When Tony woke up, it was to be greeted by the overly-white walls of medical.

"Fuck," he croaked.

"That's what I thought." A voice to his right said, sounding just a little bit amused, and oh, shit, he knows that voice.

"Yes, you do."

Oh. Huh. He said that out loud. They must have him on the good drugs then.

"Again, yes."

He should probably try to put conscious effort forth to talk.

"I'd say so."

Narrowing his eyes against the light, Tony turned his head towards the voice that sounded suspiciously like Bruce.

"I'm in medical," he said, tongue too big and too dry, sticking to the roof of his mouth and distorting his words. His throat felt like it was recently doused with sand. "Why'm I in medical?"

"You broke several ribs." A fuzzy-looking Bruce says with barely any inflection, which, even doped up on the good stuff Tony recognizes as his way of distancing himself. Tony closed his eyes, because watching fuzzy-looking Bruce move around was starting to make him a bit dizzy. After a moment and with faint sounds of shuffling, a straw-he peeked-poked at his dry lips. Gratefully, he drank.

"Thank you," he mumbled tiredly.

"You're welcome. Your wrist is sprained, you've cracked at least five ribs, and you've got severe bruising covering most of the left half of your face. And you have a concussion."

"...S'not so bad."

"No," Bruce says deliberately. "It's not as bad as it could have been."

Huh. That sounds like the kind of thing that alludes to something unspoken, but Tony is ridin' the morphine wave, and cannot be bothered to look into it right now. However, "S'everyone else?"

"They're fine. Steve is already healed, Natasha's shoulder isn't giving her much trouble, but Clint's bandages are driving him up the wall." The blurry-Bruce cracks a very bland and safe smile, and it makes Tony want to reach over and zap him with a cattle prod. Again. "Thor was barely knocked down once."

"N'you?" Tony mumbles, eyelids beginning to feel increasingly too heavy for his face. He doesn't miss the way though that the scientists' eyebrow arches up like it usually does when Tony says something he finds amusing but refuses to really acknowledge.

"I'm fine, Tony. You were the only one seriously injured." There's that damn tone again, hinting at words that Tony is pretty sure Bruce would like to say-or yell, but there's that whole anger issue thingy-but he's already beginning to drift off again. He tries to answer, he really does, can't quite remember why _Better me th'n'you_is not an acceptable response, but he also can't quite remember where his tongue is, so he lets go, lets himself drift off and completely misses Bruces' eyes darkening.

The next time Tony wakes up, he's a bit more lucid; as in, they have cut him off the good drugs and he is now one giant bruise on a too-white medical bed. His thumb is already pressing the drip-button thirty times a minute, which is a good quarter of his usual speed, so he knows he's probably fucked himself up something fierce.

There's no one in the room, so either the teams been called out on some world saving adventure-again-or it's Natasha or Clint there with him.

Calculating, he croaks out, "Hey there, birdbrain," and receives a muffled curse from the air vents for his trouble. He grins, and then wants to punch himself in the fucking face because Jesus Christ, _Jesus Christ_ that hurts so bad.

"Easy, dumbass." The ceiling mutters. "If you hurt yourself any more Bruce is liable to Hulk out when he comes back. That's not an exaggeration, either. They took you off the meds this morning; you've been whimpering since then. He was green when he walked out."

He tried to keep his face slack, even if he could feel indignation well up to rival with the agony of all his cuts and bruises waking up at the _exact same time_. "I don't whimper!"

"You're pretty fucked up, Tony. Nobody's going to care if you, I dunno, _show it_." The ceiling replied dryly.

For a humiliating moment, he was pretty sure he could feel his face heat. Then he remembered that he must still be covered in bruises, and even if he was red, it wouldn't be that noticeable anyway. A small consolation, but consolation none the less.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he sniffs primly.

He can feel the stare practically bore holes into the side of his head; how this is possible, he really, really doesn't want to know. To distract himself from this very unwanted train of thought, Tony decides to attempt to scoot himself up higher in the bed.

The effects are less than desirous.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that," Clint interrupts Tony's stream of heavy cursing and watery-eyed pain, calloused hands gently pushing the man back into a comfortable position on the medical bed, having appeared out of_ fucking nowhere_. "And then whose ass is going to get kicked? Mine. Stop it."

"Th'fuck do you do that," he slurred through grit teeth, glaring through his good eye and oh, fuck, he sounded like Fury. "Motherfucker." He tacked on for good measure, because, hell, he's always wanted an eyepatch.

Cracking a grin, Clint settled himself crosslegged in the nearest horribly furnished waiting chair.

"How long've I been out?" Tony grumbles after a satisfactory amount of time has passed in which he is not pouting.

"A day or so. The drugs they had you on were pretty strong-you were in and out of it. The docs took you off'em a couple hours ago; you were gettin' kinda touchy."

"Touch-what the hell does that mean?"

Clint pointed. "Everytime you became sorta lucid you'd do that. Like a heroin addict looking for a fix."

Tony looked down, finally noticing that he was still rapidly pressing the drip button. By the cramping in his hand, he'd been doing that for a while now.

"Would you look at that," he managed, and forced himself to stop. He cleared his throat. "So, uh-where's the rest of the crew?"

"Nat and Steve are sparring." He answered immediately, rolling his right shoulder restlessly. "Bruce is getting tea."

"Thor?"

The archer winced. "Uh. His girlfriend is visiting from New Mexico."

It took him a minute-fucking concussions-but when it finally clicked, Tony burst out laughing, ignoring the way his body hated him for it. "Holy shit," he mused. "Go Thor."

Clint visibly shuddered. "Please. Ugh." After a moment, he tilted his head. A second later he was standing. "I hear some withdrawn and solemn footsteps," he sing-songed, going to a corner. "Say hi to Bruce for me."

"What the-how the_ fuck_ can you tell that from footsteps, Barton?" Tony demanded, but he was already gone. "I don't want to get yelled at," he whined, and got a faint echo of laughter just as the door opened to reveal a slightly ruffled looking Bruce holding a steaming Styrofoam cup.

"Thank god," Tony managed, making grabby hands. "Come'ere."

Arching an eyebrow, Bruce obliged, handing over his cup and- oh. Well, that's not exactly what he meant, but okay, he'll take whatever he can get.

And, okay, ew-Earl Grey. But... Another sip should be taken, to really test the effectiveness of that soothing warmth sliding down his throat that feels as if he's been gargling sandpaper with but can't recall when.

He hummed at the next sip, only a little chagrined to realize that his eyes might have rolled into the back of his head for a minute there.

"Thank you." He murmurs, lips pressing to the lid and distorting the words.

"That was mine, you know." Bruce said, both eyebrows arched now, the corners of his lips twitching like he was fighting a smile.

The heart monitor, which he should have noticed earlier at his side goddamn it, kicked up a notch, confirming that yes, yes he still hated those fuckers.

"We can share." Tony cut in hastily before Bruce could comment on the accelerated heartbeat. Didn't mean he didn't notice-the man noticed everything-but at least he didn't lose that look in his eyes that made them sparkle just a bit, and wow, _wow_, he must still have some drugs in his system if he was thinking things like that. Better not to dwell, he decided, and took another sip.

"How are you feeling?"

And there it was. Maybe it was a little unfair, considering how often he retreated behind faux smiles and scathing retorts, but he hated that tone; that tone that told him that yes, Bruce Banner has just retreated behind his many walls and is pulling that unfailing monotone back out to distance himself from everything-and one-else and damn, Tony without a cattle prod.

"Okay," he replies cautiously, watching Bruce from the corner of his eye even as he draws the syllables out. "I'm feeling great."

"Really."

Uh-oh. If it's possible to turn the force of Bartons flat and unnerving bug-eyed("Bird, _bird_, I'm fucking _Hawkeye_, it's a fucking bird stare if anything!") stare into a tone of voice, Bruce has found the way.

"...Yes."

"I don't believe you."

"Ask the doctors, then," he muttered, unable to stop the way his defenses have raised against Bruces' hard stare and steely-tone. "They're the ones who thought I was healed up enough to cut off my pretty drugs."

"No, they cut off your drugs because they were worried about you becoming an addict," Bruce corrected. "Every time you woke up you wouldn't stop clicking that damn button."

He resisted the urge to click it just to be difficult, but resolutely raised Bruces' tea to his lips again; the glare he got in reply was no where near as unaffected as he tried to appear to be. Tony chalked that up to a win on his part.

"I am fine." He stressed, and hoped the change in attitude would convince the scientist that he was; and he _was_. Sort of. Everything hurt to the point that he felt it a little unfair that his morphine had been taken away-addictive behavior not withstanding okay-but he was still alive, right? He still had the arc reactor in one piece, exactly where it was suppose to be. The team was good, nobody was dead, and the only real downside to the fight was that most of New York's shopping mall mannequins had been destroyed. Personally, Tony thought it a job well done.

"Would you_ stop lying to me_?" Bruce finally burst out, lips peeling back as he snarled ineffectively at him, hands clutching the guard rail of the medical bed so hard his knuckles stood out even against the bright white plastic. "Why does it have to be so difficult?_ Just tell me the truth_."

Tony blinked, hard. Which, ow. Despite this, though, there was still a very real irritated scientist looming over him in a medical room. He obviously wasn't dreaming, as Bruce still had all of his clothes on, and usually this sort of scene didn't start out with Bruce raising his voice. It certainly ended that way, but that was neither here nor there.

"I'm sorry?" Tony tries, just a bit blankly.

"I don't want sorry," he grits out, eyes narrowing behind his glasses even as he starts to take deep breaths through his nose. "I want the truth. How. Are. You. Feeling?"

The beeps are steadily picking up pace, and he has the vague thought that that machine was such a pain in the ass, right before he jerked the clip on his index finger off and the machine went dead. He catches the way Bruces' lips thin, and hastily intervenes, "Um. Sore?"

He is thrust unceremoniously into confusion and an _upside down illogical world where nothing makes sense_ when Bruce seems to actually _relax_. "Any numbness?"

"No..."

"Headache? Nausea? Blurry vision?"

"No, no and no." He fidgets, then stills because, yes, still ow. Damn it. He hates being injured; fading bruises just take that much longer to disappear when a certain fucking ceiling hawk takes it upon himself to start poking at all of them, and everybody apparently feels the need to bug the everliving shit out of him whenever he tries to get some work done down in the workshop.

He was _fine._

"Can I-" he begins hopefully.

"No." Bruce replied immediately, carefully taking the chart at the end of his bed and checking it over. "You're injured. You're staying in medical until you're cleared. No leaving until then."

"But what if I-" at this, Bruce tilted his head up just the barest bit from its bent position perusing the chart, eyes flashing a bright and eery _green_ from behind his lenses.

Vaguely, Tony thinks how good it is that he took the monitor off; he doesn't think Bruce would accept 'That had to be the hottest thing I have ever seen' as a viable excuse for why his heartbeat was suddenly skyrocketing.

"You're going to stay there," Bruce went on calmly, heavy-lidded gaze on Tony and making it physically impossible to get in air to his suddenly breathless lungs. "And rest, and recover. Someone is going to be here at all times until you are fit to be released. And before you ask, _yes_, you _do _need a babysitter." After a moment of hesitation, he reaches over and takes the forgotten tea from Tony's hands and tucks the clipboard under his arm, heading for the door. "I need to go discuss something with your- with the doctors. I'm going to send Thor in to watch you; he's been wanting to discuss things with you anyway. Relationship related things."

With Bruces' stare off him, he finally remembers how to breathe correctly. The scientist is nearly out the door when his words strike a chord.

"_Wait_! Thor wants to ask _me _for relationship advice?"

Bruce pauses, sending him an amused look over his glasses. "Shut up. Relax. And stop pressing that damn button."

At the words, Tony registers the cramping leading all the way to his shoulder before he looks down and confirms, yep, he still hasn't stopped pressing the little clicker in his hand. He doesn't even regret the full on grin that feels like it's splitting his face because a moment later, as he's leaving, Bruce laughs.

And then he presses his lips to the exact spot Tony's had just been, just before he ducks out the door, and Tony is left there with thoughts of pushing Bruce up against the wall, pressing Bruce into the bed, _Bruce Bruce Bruce _to keep him company.

"Man of Iron!" The god crows moments later, pulling Tony from his delightfully tortuous inner thoughts. "It is good to see you awake. It is very unnerving when you are in a room and yet so quiet." He admits solemnly, dropping himself so carelessly into the seat Clint had been in that it creaks pitifully.

"Thank you?" Tony tries, blinking away the images of a Bruce with kiss-bruised lips. "I think?"

"You are welcome, brother in arms! Tell me, our tiny Doctor Banner has just left looking much lighter than he has been in days. What is the cause of this change of heart?" At this, Thor tilts his head. Literally. Like a dog. Like a curious, huge golden retriever made entirely of muscle. Tony actually has to bite his tongue to fight back the ridiculous laughter that tries to bubble up.

"Uh, a button. Which, by the way, be a pal?" He held up said offending item, thumb twitching. Expression serious, Thor reached over and tugged, the pad and plastic-encased wires releasing themselves from the bed with a brief flash of sparks. "You're a bro, you really are."

"I have heard of this 'bro'. Clint has said that it is short for 'brother', correct?"

"Uh, yeah."

"And so this would entail that we are brothers, more beyond just in battle, even if we are not of blood?" Thor goes on, a faint smile working its way on his face, at odds with the shadows in his eyes. Tony hates that look, hated it when it was in Clint's eyes, still hates it, and will continue to hate it every time it appears on one of his teammates faces.

Because it's still a little weird to think that, and because seeing that look in Thor's eyes is as bad as seeing a curious golden retriever flinch away from an outstretched hand, he blurts out, "Of course, buddy. Er, bro. Yeah. What's on your mind?"

And then it occurs to Tony this might actually be what Bruce was talking about, and-

"I wish to inquire about a personal matter." Thor said gravely.

-And fucking of course it is, this is Tony Stark's life, of course he would be subjected to giving relationship advice to a resident God of Thunder, the one thing he knows _literally nothing about._ If Thor had asked him how much velocity it would take to propel a bag of catfood into the atmosphere, he'd give you precise equations and numbers. He'd make a fucking demonstration on his goddamn tablet. If, Jesus, if Thor had asked him to build him his own personal AI, he'd have JARVIS Junior up and at'em in less than forty eight hours. Sixty three, tops.

But this.

"...I see. And what is this..." He has to physically stop himself from choking on his own tongue. "...Personal matter?"

"I am wishing to court Lady Jane." He says, and- holy, he's actually _wringing his hands. _"I am unaware of the Midgardian custom of such a thing. Many of your rituals are confusing and difficult to accomplish. Lady Darcy has told me of the right of passage for such things as a 'sweet sixteen', and such things have disturbed even me. So I have come to you." He nods, like this makes sense, which it fucking _doesn't_, and that isn't the concussion talking, okay. He has no idea what the _hell _Darcy has been telling him, and he's ninety five percent sure he doesn't want to know.

The other five percent though, hell yeah.

"...Uh. Well. I don't... I might not be the right one-" Tony forces himself to stop speaking, because shit, shit, _shit_, he's just done what no other villain has managed to do _ever_, what no amount of Hulk's absent punches or Steve's post-mission yelling could ever do. He flinched. "...Flowers?" He finishes weakly, and does not feel relieved at all when Thor's eyes turn wide and happy and then attentive. "I mean, yes. Flowers. Pretty... Ones. In her favorite color, as long as her favorite color isn't like, brown or some shit. Actually, don't worry about that, nobody's favorite color is brown. Um, food? Chocolates. Jewelry."

He nods. "Yes, this is what I have been told. But my Jane is allergic to such plants, I fear. She does not appreciate the taste of sweets, and she does not wear jewelry."

No. No, of course she fucking doesn't.

"Well fuck." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, wincing at the feel and making a mental note to find a shower within the next six hours. "I don't- take her on a... A date. Dates are good. Wherever she likes to go or whatever she likes to eat, or a place.. Special?.. To you guys. Oh Christ, Thor. The best thing you can do is just... I guess... Think of something she'll really like. Anything. There's no rules to this kind of thing-I mean, there is, but not what you two- not when it's _real_- and you aren't intent on getting in her pants- Jesus fuck I am messing this up so bad. Just do something... For her. That shows you, uh, you care. About her."

Thor is frowning, but it looks sort of thoughtful, so Tony isn't freaking out as bad at the sight. He can't stop thinking, _Thank fucking god Barton isn't recording this_, though.

"I shall take this into consideration," Thor says thoughtfully, starting to stand, and Tony sighs in what is _definitely _relief. "Yes, I believe I shall take your advice to heart! I thank you verily," his grin turns into something a little more genuine, a little more real, eyes serious. "Brother."

And shit, what is Tony suppose to say to that? "Anytime. Uh, bro."

He ignores the thing in his throat that others would call emotion, instead swearing viciously when Natasha drops(literally fucking drops, those goddamn assassins and their fucking air vents) in, camcorder in hand.


	5. Chapter 5

It takes Tony less than a day to bribe his way out of medical. It's fifteen more hours than he expected, but after three shifts with nurses who probably chewed nails for breakfast and pulled their cars to work with their teeth when it breaks down, the flighty woman who was perpetually constantly wringing her hands was a welcome reprieve.

"I'll give you money," he sing-songs. "You've gotta have... What are they called... Student loans! Right? Gotta have those, becoming a nurse and all. I could totally take care of them! No problem."

She hesitated, and his eyes sharpened while he bit down on an ecstatic, predatory grin._ Got'cha._

Darcy is asleep in the hideous chair, slumped and already half sprawled over the empty cot. He has absolutely no clue who thought it would be a good idea to send _Darcy_ of all people over to watch him, but he's betting it was Cap; the man couldn't resist puppy eyes if his life was on the line.

She'd taken three staggering steps into the room before collapsing, crawling her way to the chair and dragging herself onto it before faulting face first into the bed. And also his hip. He'd actually felt a little bad(literally, since her flailing hand had smacked his chest), but then she'd broken out her trusty taser and threatened him and it was pretty much all downhill from there. She was asleep within fifteen minutes.

With a passing pat to the top of her head, Tony left._ Ninja of the night indeed._

Walking down the deserted hall, buttoning up his dress shirt as he went-curtesy of a trouble making Clint, who hated medical as much as he did-Tony tried to think of a viable excuse as to why he was coming home early. Nothing believable came to mind.

_Screw it,_ he thought. _I'll hole myself up in the workshop and have JARVIS tell them._ Happy with this plan-a good one, as far as he was concerned-Tony turned a corner.

And came face to crazy with Loki.

"...Hi there," he blinked. A smile at odds with the lazy half-mast eyes pulled hard and sharp and horrible over his face.

"Good evening, Tony Stark." He purred. "Your mischief was noted. You'll be receiving my reply soon."

Tony had just an instant to think _Well shit that sounds ominous_ right before Loki raised a hand palm out and sent him flying through a wall.

* * *

"I am_ fine_," he stressed for the tenth time. The effect was somewhat lost on account of how badly he was wheezing. The nurse, a dark-skinned woman hellbent on crushing what was left of his lungs inside of his chest with how hard she was wrapping, sent him a glare.

"Mr Stark, please hold still. We need to wrap your ribs."

"I will have you_ fired_-" The rest of his half-heartedly delivered threat was cut off by a palm, curling around his jaw and pressing gently against his mouth.

"Tony." Bruce said calmly. "Shut up. Please."

Naturally, even as he's trying to figure out when the hell Bruce arrived without him noticing, he tried to open his mouth to say something else when a gentle but firm tug on his scalp near his ear had his eyes widening.

Had Bruce just pulled his hair?

Eyes narrowing in indignation, and without at all deliberating on what he was about to do, Tony slipped out his tongue and swiped it across the middle of Bruces' palm in retaliation.

Bruce froze, eyes staring straight ahead with his free hand stilled mid-gesture. He blinked only once, a slow movement, as if if he weren't careful enough he might break.

The nurse glanced up only once, one eyebrow arched high before she went back to carefully wrapping his chest and torso.

Tony, however, noticed none of this-his vision, which had been just the barest bit fuzzy at the corners since he'd been found in the admittedly uncomfortable rubble of the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical wall, had distinctly tilted as soon as tongue met flesh, and was drawn to what he could see of the tense scientists hand.

A little dreamily, he licked again, slower, making out the faint taste of Jasmin where Bruce must have spilt his tea, mixing with the heady tang of antibacterial soap.

"Tony-" Bruce warned, voice low and a little dark and oh, _please_. He swallowed hard, tilting his head up to catch Bruces' heavy eyed stare watching him from the corners of his eyes, something a little unreadable in its gaze but definitely something he wanted to explore, oh, yes, he-

-Reared back with a startled, pained gasp, one arm instinctively curling up over his ribs protectively while his vision swam in and out from the sudden, jarring movement. When watering eyes finally refocused, he caught sight of the far too calm nurse with her hand still raised from where she had patted him on the chest.

"You-" he gasped, glaring, realizing only then that Bruce had removed his hand. A quick, disappointed look behind him confirmed the scientist was no longer in the room. "You _cockblocker_."

"No hanky panky in my wing," the nurse sniffed primly. "You're injured. Act that way."

Tony's glare slowly worsened. "I don't like you." He said darkly.

"You're going to like this even less." She said companionably, as if one of those traitor ninja assassin fuckers hadn't just snuck up behind him and given him a shot of sedatives directly into his neck.

"Traitor," he slurred, and got a faint retort in Russian for his troubles.

_Oh,_ he thought blearily, just before going under. _Natasha, then._

When he next opened his eyes, his first thought was, _I fucking hate this._

The second was, _...I'm in the Tower. Yay!_

Then, _Oh, fuck, Cap._

"Hi." He rasped, trying not to think too deeply on why he was getting the Disapproving Frown. "Hiya, Cap. What's shakin'."

"First,you are irresponsible and cannot be trusted. How could you try to _leave _against doctors orders? What's more, how could you do that and not at least _tell _anyone?" He said immediately, Disapproving Frown becoming deeper and, if possible, more disapproving. "Second, you should not have bribed that poor woman. She really thought you were going to pay off her student loans. That's not nice, Tony."

"What? I was serious. I wasn't going to leave her hanging there, Capsicle, jeez," he muttered, and, yeah, he was a little offended. He was also still totally going to do it now, nevermind the fact that Operation Getaway-Hideaway was a complete and utter disaster.

And that he wasn't about to tell Cap he would. He could be thoughtful too, or whatever.

"It was still highly irresponsible of you to leave against Doctors orders. _Especially_ since you didn't even call one of us. Or even waited until morning, when one of us would be there." At this, Steve looks honest to god like Tony just kicked his crippled puppy.

"Awe, jeez," he muttered again, letting his head thunk back against his pillow. "Damn it, Cap." The man jerked back, as if he had been burned, and Tony hastily went on, "Steve. Damn it, Steve. I don't... Do.. Feelings. Ugh. I had a feelings talk with Thor; I have filled my quota for the year. Do I have to?" A quick peek at Steves' confused and slightly offended face confirmed yes, he had to. God _damn_ son of... "I was fine. I mean, a couple cracked-"

"Broken," he interrupted darkly.

"_Cracked_ ribs and a slight concussion. Slight. I was alright. If I called you guys, you'd just worry, and... Iono. That would be bad? I really, really hate medical, Steve. I hate it. I hate the walls, I hate the smell, I hate the people who aren't you guys who always come in and want to poke and prod and I cannot stand it. I will go nuts. So yes, that's why I didn't call you guys, and before you start, it wouldn't have made a difference if I had stayed or left. Loki was obviously there for me."

He blinked, and the confusion slowly melted away to be replaced with a dark understanding.

"Because you-"

"Because I," Tony agreed, resigned. "Not my best decision, clearly. I still think it was funny as hell."

Steve sputtered, eyes furious. "You're in _danger-_"

"All the damn time." Tony snapped, interrupting sharply because, hell. He refused to regret this; stupid thought it may have been, he refuses to regret lessening Barton's shadows, even briefly. "How is now any different? Ironman is in danger 24/7 from supervillains, and Tony Stark is in danger of practically everyone-himself included! Tell me how this is any different from what I face on a daily basis, Cap, c'mon."

Steve faltered, something Tony took irritated satisfaction in. Letting out a careful breath, he tried to relax against the soft mattress and sheets.

It was blatantly apparent that Cap wanted to argue, even opening his mouth as if to retort-before snapping it closed with a resigned sigh. "We're going to have a talk about this when you're healed," he warned. "Everyone. You can't target one of us without targeting the rest."

He didn't point out how Loki had done great so far. "Can't wait." He said dryly. "By the way, since we're on the subject; Darcy? Darcy, _really_? You send _Darcy _to come look after me?"

The heavy, knowing flush that works its way up Steve's neck has him chortling for hours afterwards.

As it turns out, 'resting at home' apparently actually doesn't mean getting back to work. No, everyone was now hellbent on making sure he did just that-_nothing._

They took turns now watching over him, which would be cute if they were doing that instead of just watching him while doing a grade-A poor job of distracting him from work. He'd tried to appeal to even Clint to let the archer get him his tablet, promising new arrows that would literally rain hellfire down upon their enemies.

He had hesitated, right before Natasha threw a shoe at his skull-and connected.

He hadn't seen Bruce at all. But he was definitely not thinking about that, because there was nothing to think about. Right? Right.

The ache in his chest cavity he blamed on the broken ribs.

All of this, Tony could handle. He could handle the hovering and crappy attempts to derail his train of thought with promises of movies and games(Clint), books and funnies from the Sunday paper(Steve, bless his little Capsicle heart), food fit for kings(Thor), and then just outright threats(Natasha, Coulson).

He could... Probably deal with all of that without going insane. Maybe. He still had JARVIS, after all.

But since the hospital fiasco, they hadn't seen hide nor hair of Loki. Or any villain wanting to throw the world into discord and chaos.

And it was driving everyone fucking crazy.

Thor and Clint had made up their own boardgame, which Coulson won immediately once they roped him into playing. Thor had thrown the thing out of the window, and Clint hadn't left the the vents for three hours.

Natasha... Threw her knives. Anywhere. While doing anything. She'd been reading, and Steve had been discussing music with Darcy, and she had just snapped her arm out. A split second later, a knife had embedded itself into the vases across the room.

Conversation stopped. The vase hadn't even rattled on it's perch. Natasha kept reading.

"I think I just peed," Darcy had muttered.

Tony knew all of this because he had JARVIS tell him via the security feeds, and even from his relatively safe position three floors up in his room, he had still been paranoid and fidgety for an hour.

Occasionally he would see Bruce, making his way into the kitchen or having a quiet discussion with Cap. He never specifically asked for feed for either him or the labs.

It had been a week. A solid week of all of this, and he was ready to have Thor fling_ him_ from the Tower. Suitless.

So when he was playing a semi competitive game of Go Fish with Steve and Coulson urged a "_Avengers, assemble!_" over the speakers, he didn't even move but to throw a spare three at a suddenly standing Cap.

"I know," he said casually when the other man opened his mouth. "'Stay here'. Got'cha."

He got a grateful smile in reply, just before he dashed from the room.

"Got any eights?" He called out after him. A few silent moments passed; waiting five(or two, whatever, same thing) minutes, he carefully raised himself from the bed, cautiously testing his still healing body and only a little dissatisfied with the twinges and pains that greeted him.

"JARVIS, get the suit ready," he said, grinning with all his teeth.

"No, JARVIS, don't get the suit ready." A bland voice said behind him, and he winced.

Damn, damn, damn.

Slowly, he turned around, disarming charm turned up to full blast in his smile. "Natasha! Surprise surprise, I thought you'd be out with the team."

"Someone needed to stay home. To watch you." She was studying one of her knives. Tony's pretty sure the arc reactor was about to explode, and that would be the weirdest form of irony ever. Barton would laugh, he thinks. "Why are you out of bed, Stark?"

She looked amused; he couldn't be one hundred percent sure if that was a good or bad thing.

"...I gotta pee?" He tried.

"In the suit?"

"It's a hell of a convenience."

"Right. Because you know how Steve would react if he caught you going to battle while you're still injured."

"Understandingly?"

The look she sent him was as close to fond exasperation as he'd ever seen on her.

He slumped his shoulders. "But I'm okay now," he whined. "I wanna go fight back guys with all the other superheroes."

Watching him the entire time, with one graceful arch of an eyebrow, she reached over and very, very gently poked him in the side.

Through sheer force of will he had been completely unaware that he had, he managed not to make any noise. He couldn't stop his face was twitching, or from his eyes watering violently, but he stood completely still and stared back as impassive as he could manage. The pain itself wasn't that bad, his reaction due mostly to the unexpected touch, muscles tensing as if in preparation for a punch, but his breath still rattled inside of his lungs on the way out.

She clucked her tongue, something that sounded vaguely approving in Russian rolling off the assassins tongue right before she tilted her head at him and cocked both eyebrows up. "I realize it is very difficult for you to not focus attention on yourself, but it's imperative that you are not seen. _If_ we leave. That means staying out of the worst of the fire, on the sidelines."

His eyes widened. "I can totally dig undercover; I'm great at undercover. I lasted three days in that Protective Services thing Pepper made me go into after that twenty seventh death threat. Or maybe that was one of the marriage proposals. I forget."

"Suit up. I need a ride."

Whatever possessed him to let Natasha ride shotgun on the suits back, Tony swore he'd never fall victim to it again. She clung on like a rabid squirrel, limbs locked tight in place as he flew as low as he could, and even if they were still a ways from the last reported area of attack, he was still unashamedly keeping an eye out for Barton specifically. He honestly did not want to think about what the archer would do to him if he caught him with Natasha clinging like a burr, even if it was her idea.

Tony says over their comm, separate from the teams frequency, "So they don't see-fuck me!"

She called back something in Russian, the translation of which he missed as he does a sharp nose dive to catch the suddenly airborn spy.

"Thought you said you had a solid fucking grip!" He yells furiously, arms hooked under Natasha's as he leveled out. They're approaching a rooftop, and he flips the faceplate up, in no mood to be dealing with the radio.

"Stark."

"We are not doing this again, you and fucking Clint and your goddamn heights-"

"_Tony._" Natasha stressed.

"_What_?"

"I meant to do that."

"Oh."

He coughed lightly, lowering them both to a nearby rooftop. Once landed, Natasha sent him an indulgent look.

"Don't give me that," he said defensively. "I've only flown Cap around. He at least _tells_ me when he's going to take a fucking header off my spine."

"If you cannot handle that," she says dryly. "Perhaps you should go back to the Tower."

He doesn't say fuck you, because this is Natasha and she is very much liable to talk him into swallowing his own tongue. Instead, he makes a face at her after he flips the Ironman faceplate down("You're so childish." "How do you _know_ the things I _do_?") and fires up the thrusters, taking off into the air with Natasha already disappeared off the roof.

He mutes himself before switching back to the team's frequency.

"_Hawkeye, report._"

"_Sorry, Cap, can't-motherfucker! Pressed in from all sides, won't argue a little back up._"

"_I shall be there as soon as I am able._" Thor's uncharacteristic solemn voice pipes up. "_These may be tiny foes, but they are great in number and refuse to be beaten down. Many come to replace their fallen._"

He doesn't even have to think about it to know that Natasha is already on her way anyway, and instead weaves low in and out of between buildings. The few idiots who are still out in the streets catch sight of him, but he's already gone by the time they manage to point and shout. Let it not be said that Tony Stark could not _do _subtle when threatened by Natasha.

For awhile, at least.

He's close enough that he can see the signature colors of the team without the aid of the pinpoints of light on the map JARVIS has up on the screen. Cap is in the distance, shield being thrown like a Frisbee and cutting down street signs and poles in its wake. He doesn't know what the hell is crawling over the concrete at their feet, but whatever it is, the Hulk does not appreciate it; feet stomping hard whenever they get too close, sending the fern-looking balls high into the air where they spread out their wings, or arms, or whatever the fuck they have and gliding down gently to the floor again. Alternatively, on to Hulk, latching on and giving him particular difficulty in removing them from his person.

There's something going on behind them; the street is deserted of people, if littered with debris and abandoned vehicles, but it looks almost as if there is something moving all across the ground, rolling over each other like a wave.

"JARVIS, zoom in."

There's a faint crackle, and a shiver of awareness crawls up his spine.

"JARVIS?"

The things on the ground were crawling, color matching the dark asphalt as if they were wiggling just under the concrete, climbing high over one another until they're rolling at the height of a convertible.

_It's the road,_ he realizes, staring in grotesque fascination. _There's nothing there, it's just the fucking road._

"_Fuck me!_" Hawkeye shouts over the comm, having come to the same conclusion. "_Cap, you gotta get the hell out of there-_"

Frantic beeping was his only warning, just before something gangly and distorted dropped from the building above him, clipping one leg and sending him into a frantic spiral through the air.

"Son of a bitch," he snarls, arms pinwheeling in the air before he manages to right himself a minute too late; it was no good, he was too low, successfully managing to only take away the brunt of dragging himself across street and sidewalk, screeching metal echoing through the air.

"_Hawkeye?_" Cap asks, sounding breathless.

"_Hulk's fine. You're good. Whatever that fucking thing was is gone now, disappeared or fucking something. Also, Ironman and Widow are here._"

"_...What?_"

"_Good!_" Thor crows. "_We shall need the added strength to finish these beasts! Never have I seen such beings._"

"_Hello, Captain._" Natasha says easily, sounding distant, and Tony realized she must be speaking through Clint's earpiece.

"_Widow. Why the... Why aren't you with Tony?_"

"_My guess,_" Hawkeye drawled. "_Is because he's already here._"

"_What? _What_? No, Ironman, if you're on the comm, I want you_ back to the Tower _now_-"

Tony doesn't get a chance to reply, freezing in the middle of climbing to his feet when the sound of shrill grinding metal continues behind him.

He turns around, eyes widening at the severe disfigured mannequin standing only a few feet from him. The head and shoulders and upper torso were melted into grotesque shapes, only one arm managing to escape still connected to the body that twisted and turned with sickening cracks and grinds.

"I _killed_ you," he said faintly, as if voicing this would make the world turn back to the time this was once a very really fact.

What was left of the grossly misshapen head turned to the side jerkily, the movement accompanied by stuttered clicking. Then it launched.

* * *

_BECAUSE I CAN._

_I'm iffy about this chapter. Veeery iffy. Helpful feedback is helpful?  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_Just a bit of a heads up; this chapter is angsty. Ish. I guess? It's, uh, it's a lot more serious than I had really ever intended for this story. So if you were looking for happy-funny-sexy times, skip this chapter for the next. Bruce will be pantless in it, and it, it will be glorious._

* * *

There are so many things wrong with the current situation, Tony reflects cynically, he isn't quite sure where to start.

When the puppet that looks literally like it just came from hell wrapped its one arm around his shoulder to claw at his back, feet pressed against his chest for enough leverage to try to wrap its damaged upper torso completely around his face and shoulders, he thinks, _Let's start here._

He brings up a palm, and for the second time he watched the damn thing take a repulsor blast full on, limbs flailing sickeningly as it arched through mid air.

This time when it landed, it almost immediately got back up in a crackle of creaks and pops.

He needs a plan.

"Fuck this," he decides, activating his thrusters and sparing no time in becoming airborn.

"_I want visual confirmation on Ironman, _now_!_" Steve shouts over the comm, sounding righteously pissed off. He debates not turning on the radio, but sighs and flicks it on anyway. Stupid feelings.

"Roger that, Capsicle. I've got Ironman in my sights now," Tony says dutifully. It wasn't entirely a lie; he could see his reflection in the building he'd just flown past.

There's a moment of silence, and then the entire frequency went _insane._

"_Status report!_" Cap snaps, all business.

"_Dude! What the fuck? Aren't you still injured?_" Hawkeye piped up.

"_Man of Iron!_" Thor booms, and it's really a given that everyone with a radio winced. "_It pleases me greatly we will now have you at our sides in this glorious battle._"

"_Absolutely not,_" Steve's voice says, all irritation and strung out nerves leaking through the Captain America.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He said, cutting through the chatter. "We may have a problem here, though. Do we know who's behind trying to get you guys to concrete surf?"

"_This has the mischief my brother is famous for all in it._" Thor said solemnly.

Clint choked.

"_I think you mean all over it._" Natasha murmured.

"_There is a difference? Do not both situations lead to intimate relations?_"

"Someone help Merida over there," Tony said, amused. "He's liable to pitch himself off the building at this point."

"_Avengers,_" Captain America said sharply. "_Focus._"

No one talked for a minute, the silence both sheepish and repentant before Tony broke it. Of course.

"I can't reach JARVIS," he said, and the silence turned heavy. "My radio is jammed. I can't connect to JARVIS."

The silence continued for a beat, two.

"_If your radio is jammed, why can you connect to us?_" Hawkeye asked.

"Our close ranges? Or someone is specifically targeting my frequency to JARVIS. I had him earlier, then..." Then the mannequin had attacked, again. So what if...

"Very good," a voice purred through the comm, sweetly acidic with the hint of mocking patronization in the tone.

"Loki."

"It took you long enough. I feel almost insulted."

"Yeah, well, getting thrown through a wall on top of a concussion I've heard can rattle the brains. You'll have to forgive me if I didn't recognize your particular brand of crazy all over this shindig."

"Such venom," Loki tsked. "I thought you were suppose to be so suave."

"I also hear it may piss people off," Tony murmured, taking deep breaths to dispel the panic. The team was still on his maps, so that just meant the frequency was cut, right? They were all gravitating toward eachother, Bruces' blinking light indicating him transforming.

Maybe he could lead Loki away? He doubted the rest of the team were prepared to take on the rest of Loki's fucked up Furby's and Olympic road surfing, and then Loki himself. Besides, if he was right, it wasn't the team he was after- it was just Tony.

"So, where're you hiding? I'm getting a little lonely up here. Let's meet, have a nice chat, get a latte, my treat." Tony said, matching his tone to Loki's, easy going and thick with charm and faux interest.

"Are you? Can't have that, can we?" He laughed, cold and loud. "Let me introduce a friend, then."

Behind him, the sound of crunching glass was accompanied by an all too familiar shriek of metal. A glance behind him confirmed Smiles was actually _following _him, flinging itself from building to building in a stunning, horrific display of agility.

"Fuck me," he breathed, already kicking up his speed and arching his flightpath away from the taller buildings.

"Oh! You've met?" Loki asked, sly voice delighted. "My, small world."

"The next time I see you," Tony panted, heartrate knocked up uncomfortably high because that _fucking _thing didn't even pause in its chase, taking the lack of buildings to cling to in stride and instead leapfrogging the smaller ones. "Remind me to punch you in the _fucking face._"

"What do you mortals say? It's a date." He purred. The radio crackled, then went silent.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted, kicking his thrusters up as high as he could get them- he was little more than a blur now, streaking across the sky at a speed that was starting to wear on the suit; he'd almost never had to use this kind of speed before, had only accommodated the suit to a certain level of speed a few shades higher than what he usually used when he was in a hurry. The power was already draining noticeably.

He was forced to rapidly change his speed, less he become a smear on the side of a building when something landed heavily on his back, clinging and chittering wildly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He let out a frustrated shout when nimble, undamaged fingers began to dig into the cracks of the armor, no doubt to try to peel it from his body one by one.

Jaw clenched, his eyes flew over the screen, equations and numbers filling his vision. Percentages disapproved of his plan, but at the rate Smiles was digging, it'd hit something vital soon and he would really be screwed.

So he twisted in mid air, grabbing one disfigured leg so he could violently tear the damn thing from its perch on his back. He thinks something else might have come free, wonders if Smiles had managed to pry something loose after all, but now he's got am armful of wailing, struggling mannequin, can't think of it as he holds the thing with both hands while he makes a sharp turn towards the Earth below.

There's a highway ramp directly under him, emptied but for machinery and construction signs. If he doesn't time this right...

As if to argue against those thoughts, he kicks up the speed.

The thing isn't holding still, but he's got a decent hold on it, and even if he manages to get free they're going too fast for impact not to cause damage now.

They're so close, close enough he can read the rules on the obligatory hanging safety signs.

He throws Smiles to the ground, using the momentum to propel himself rightside up, gravity dragging him down directly into the miniature crater Smiles left and, consequently, Smiles himself. He can feel the uneven plastic and rubble beneath him; and for a moment, he stands there, partially crouched, boots pinning the animated mannequin to the concrete.

Then he hits the thrusters, launches himself into the sky, and Smiles through the rest of the concrete.

He's in the sky now, taking in deep, shuddering breathes while watching the dust and rubble settle below him. Adrenaline is pumping hard, making his limbs itch and fidget, but he stays suspended, completely still, watching.

S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles arrive thirty minutes later(_yeah guys that's great take your time no fuckin' hurry here_), and when Coulson steps out of one, Tony is lounging back on a crane.

"Sup," he says, faceplate up.

"If you didn't have your suit on," Coulson says conversationally, peering with monotone interest into the crater where Smiles is just barely twitching, crushed beneath collapsed concrete. "I really would tase you."

"Color me lucky. What're you doing on the field, Philly?"

"Cleaning up your mess," he shoots back, directing more Agents to cleanup and damage control. When he turns back, he shoots Tony and unimpressed look. "I thought you said you all caught the rest of these?"

"We did." Tony dropped from the machine, strolling to the edge of the hole to study it thoughtfully. "Dunno why there was just one. Might want to check the others, though."

He presses a finger to his ear. A moment later, Coulson looks up, lips thinning. "This is the only one that escaped destruction. No one reveal its missing status because, _hey_, it's a doll."

Tony barked out a laugh, grinning madly at the expressionless senior Agent. "So, who's getting fired?"

"Everyone." He said darkly. "Possibly including you."

Realizing what was coming, he groaned.

"Yes. You need to be debriefed, Stark."

"I just destroyed the damn Doll from Hell. I don't get a break?"

"Not when you scare your teammates half to death muting them when Loki contacts you."

Tony froze. "Wait. Wait. Back up. _What_?"

Coulson studied him, eyes sharp and assessing. "You didn't know," he guessed after a moment.

"That you all could hear every damn thing going on? No, I didn't." He cursed, raising a hand to run through his hair before realizing he still had the helmet on. He dropped his hand, winced. "How pissed is everyone?"

Terrifyingly, Coulson cracked a small, wry smile. "Natasha hasn't stopped speaking in Russian. Even Barton refuses to translate."

"Aw, Christ." Tony heaved a sigh. "Alright. Let's go face the firing squad." He flipped the faceplate down, pausing mid crouch when Coulson cleared his throat.

Tony glanced over.

The Agent subtly angled his body toward the open door of the dark unmarked vehicle behind him.

"...I'll get there quicker?" He tried weakly, cursing when Coulson just leveled him with an unimpressed stare. He straightened, activating the briefcase cloaking on the suit. When it was back in its case, he picked it up and walked over to the car with Coulson, definitely _not _sulking.

"I've worked with Barton," Coulson said mildly as they both climbed in, mindful of their injuries. "You are childs play at escape attempts."

"Uh, rude. I _am _injured here, y'know?" Despite his words, Tony carelessly sprawled himself out over most of the back seat. "Wait until I'm a hundred percent. You'll never catch me, fuzz."

By the time they reached S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Tony was so wound up his muscles ached to the point of pain. He wasn't stupid-far from it, thanks-he knew what this meant, that their comms could be manipulated.

Normally, Tony would just build better equipment and maybe through in a disruptor for good measure, but it wasn't _everyone's _comms, they-_Loki_-was focusing on, it was just Tony's. And with JARVIS being taken out now too(and boy was he going to hear abut that), he could already hear the regretful but firm benching speech Rogers was most likely going to give him.

And, okay, before, before it pissed him off they tried to kick him to the sidelines. And stung, a little, too, he'd admit(just not out loud).

He didn't want to say he wouldn't be able to handle the well meaning kick off the team, because, well, if and when that moment came he was pretty much going to have to, wasn't he? But he didn't want to.

He really, really didn't want to.

Coulson was out of the car, and Tony had a brief moment to feel jealous at the smooth motion when he himself felt like an unsteady tower of Lincoln logs stumbling out of the car, just before he was assaulted with an armful of redhead. This would, normally, be a very okay thing-except this was Natasha, and, really, no matter how much he trusts her not to put a knife in his neck during a fight and make it look like an accident-or an enemies successful attack-she still pretty much terrified him.

And honestly, a touchy-feely Natasha made his genius mind blank out in fear.

"Steve yelled at me," she murmured in his ear, and he jerked back to himself, eyes sharp and mind whirring.

"He _what_?"

On anyone else-literally, _anyone _else, Hitler, Coulson, _Fury_-the minor subdued tone she had he'd have described as almost _pouting._

"He yelled at me," she repeated, and, hell, whatever, if he was going to get kicked off the team or get a knife to the neck, he'd do it after sneaking a quick squeeze from the deadly redhead with her arms around him. He was a genius, not a saint.

"So," he said conversationally, snaking his arm around Natasha's slim waist and patting her hip. "How screwed am I?"

"Pretty much totally," Clint said from behind him, and Tony did not jolt, okay, he didn't. He lived with sneaky ninja assassins, he knew _Coulson_, he did not jump.

Natasha pulled away, eyes knowing and eyebrows arched.

Well.

Whatever, what did she know, anyway?

Besides seventy five different ways of making him weep like a child with just his tie.

Huh. Need to remember this.

Tony glanced behind him and scowled. "Get off my car, Barton."

The archer blew him a kiss, though his eyes were solemn. "Nah. You scared the shit out of us, I think you can handle footprints on one of your vehicles. Besides, dude, this isn't even your car, this is S.H.I.E.L.D.'s car."

"As if you'd leave even that," Natasha said, amused.

"Doesn't matter. I'm eighty four percent sure I paid for it; I _will _rig your equipment." Tony promised.

Clint opened his mouth, snapping it closed without a word when Coulson-who'd been doing a decent job of ignoring them for his phone-looked up and said mildly, "Down, Barton. Every time you get injured in the field somehow that _shouldn't have happened_, it's just more paperwork for me. I don't want to think of the headache of explaining how your own bow shot _you_."

Though his eyes were still serious, Clint cracked a wry grin and jumped nimbly to the floor. "Aye aye, Sir."

When they were in the halls, Clint sticking close behind Coulson with his hands in his pockets, with Natasha behind Tony, it took him by utter surprise to realize that they had him surrounded. It should've been irritating, hilarious at least. He could only manage a vague sense of relief, and, well, _safety_.

He didn't see any of the others while they walked, and he was both grateful and grim; which meant they were all waiting for them-for _him_- in Fury's office.

Yep, he was well and truly screwed.

As soon as Coulson opens the door and waits for them to pile in, he knows he was right.

Thor is at Fury's desk, resting a hip and Mjornir against it while he stared out the window. His face split into horrible guilt when he saw Tony, which he unsuccessfully attempted to hid. Beside him, Steve was pacing, cowl pushed back and hair a wild mess while he crossed and uncrossed, clenched and unclenched his arms and fists. His head had snapped around as soon as the door had opened, and Tony could still see this was their leader, eyes flashing and mouth thin in displeasure.

Bruce was in a corner, dressed in emergency clothes and looking absolutely, utterly calm. He didn't look up at all.

"Director Fury is currently in a conference call," Coulson said calmly, completely unaffected by the tension mounting in the room. "He'll be wanting to talk with you later, Stark."

"Oh, goody." He sighed, long suffering, and it was like a damn exploding-all the pent up pressure finally becoming too much all at once.

"What the _hell_," Steve snarled, stomping up to shove his face into Tony's stunned blinking vision. "Were you thinking?"

"Uh." He stared. "Pardon?"

This, obviously, was not the right thing to say.

"You are _injured_." Steve hissed, stepping closer, and Tony couldn't help the way his hackles rose, all good safe feelings from earlier gone in a flash. Now he did feel like he was being herded.

"I'm _fine._" He snapped back, refusing to back down or away.

"You were _not _cleared for active duty."

"What're you going to do, Cap? Dishonorably discharge me? _Go ahead._ I'll still be out in whatever future fight there is, same as you."

While Steve turned a very interesting shade of red, Thor spoke up, and the quiet way his voice was was almost as disturbing as Cap's shouts. "I apologize verily on behalf of my kin, Man of Iron." He said, staring solemnly into Tony's increasingly discomfited gaze. "It is your folly that has invoked my brothers wrath, but he has always taken things to heart. I fear he will not let this matter simply rest."

Tony shrugged, feeling itchy and so very, very awkward as he looked around Cap's tree-trunk of a body, who, huh, looked like he was vibrating with refrained anger. "Uh, big guy," he thought better of it, "Bro, listen. Loki's batshit-sorry, it's kinda true-and he's pretty much out for us all. I've just gotten his attention more than you guys lately. I mean, I'm here, he's not gotten to check Ironman off his 'Wishing Death Upon' list yet, so, I mean, I call this a good day."

"You could have _died_," Bruce said almost serenely, speaking up for the first time. The room went utterly still. "We thought you _did _die." A movement, a twitch of his lips now, just barely there and gone. "Loki manipulated _your _tech, cutting _us _off. Talked to you, _threatened _you, attacked _you_... While _we _all got to listen. He wants _you_, and he's gotten. Too. Close."

By the end, his breathing was barely changed. The only clue that he was feeling anything but calm was the way his skin was bouncing between pale to minty green to deep emerald.

Tony, eyes wide, hesitantly stepped toward him. "Bruce-"

The scientist got up, very slowly, and left without a word.

Three hours later in which everyone too turns yelling at him for being so _recklessly stupid, really, Stark, _you're _a genius?_(Natasha's words, not his)-except Thor, who made Tony squirm uncomfortably in his seat with his continual apologies and guilty puppy eyes-, Tony is out scouring S.H.I.E.L.D. for Bruce. He has next to _no _idea what the fuck he's suppose to do or say, and he hasn't fallen so low as to call Pepper and ask for advice(yet) on the matter, so he aimlessly walks the halls and floors until he finds the man meditating in the empty training room.

_What the hell now_, he thinks a little helplessly, and tries not to backtrack out and spend the rest of the week holed up in his lab waiting for everything to blow over.

"Uh, hey," he said awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot and thereby proving Pepper's long standing theory that he was about as capable at handling real feelings as his 'bots.

Bruce didn't reply.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Tony sucked in a breath through his teeth. "So, uh, about earlier, yeah, I mean, I wasn't trying to make light of the situation or... Something. Of course it's serious, but I mean, after awhile of people trying to kill you, it sort of loses its edge." He rocked back on his heels when Bruce didn't even twitch. "I mean, I'm more concerned about Thor eating the rest of the eggs in the morning than I am really about these halfshots trying to pull the plug on me. I run on batteries, after all, it's all good."

Bruce didn't even open his eyes, and a rush of panic welled up in his chest and threatened to choke him. "Uh, Bruce?" He stepped forward, hand out and intent on patting him on the shoulder.

"Don't. _Don't _touch me." Tony froze. "Don't come near."

He felt a rush of irritation, and he resolutely straightened his shoulders as he continued to reach out, and said, "Bruce-"

"Don't _touch _me. You need to leave." If his eyes had been green when he opened them, Tony would have snorted and plopped his ass right down next to him. He'd have rolled his eyes and have babbled on until Bruce let out a sigh like he usually did, tension finally draining from his muscles.

But Bruce's eyes were brown, clear and dark and calm for all that Tony expected.

"I want you to _leave._"

And Tony, eyes wide, reared back. He barely blinked, holding Bruce's gaze for long moments until it finally clicked that, yes, he needs to get out now, right now. He didn't even realize he'd moved, didn't even realize he'd left S.H.I.E.L.D. and Bruce until he was telling Happy to go back to the Tower-not home, the Tower-distant and dazed and oh, yeah, barely there, barely watching the scenery go by.

He needed a drink.


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry, folks, I've been up all night traveling to London 1599 and then the year fifty billion, I watched a beloved friend die, defeated witches and a loathsome race that was suppose to be dead, confronted another in a race I thought long lost, aged nine hundred years... So any and all faults and mistakes in this chapter, blame on David Tennant. And his stupid perfect hair.  
_

_Goddamn Doctor Who. That fandom will be the death of me.  
_

* * *

The first thing Tony did when he got home was mute JARVIS.

Even when he's doing it, he feels like a complete and utter asshole. He didn't turn him off, but muting... He'd never muted JARVIS. Not when he was like this, when there was important work to be done, important things to be said. It makes him feel worse, if that's possible, but he doesn't take back the command.

The second thing he does is lock himself down in the workshop.

The third is unlock himself and leave, taking the elevator to the fourth floor and grabbing a very nice and very expensive bottle of scotch from the bar. _Then_ he returns and locks himself in said workshop.

For good.

For good lasted about two days, give or take. How was he suppose to get up a good sulk when Ironman was called to assemble, really?

Not that he was sulking. Tony didn't sulk. He... Strategically retreated and kept to himself when emotional shit hit the fan. It was not sulking, okay.

But, no, yeah, fucking Loki can't give them a goddamn break. And Tony gets it, he does, he's a jackass and Loki would like nothing more than to rip his tongue from his skull or whatever, that's cool(not really), but can he not just have a fucking week to himself?

Honestly, is this something he legitimately cannot have? He had Dummy and coffee and things to keep his mind and hands busy that were in no way Bruce Banner, nor did they remind him of Bruce Banner, and he was pretty much golden. He had ended up unmuting JARVIS about five hours in, which didn't really seem to matter since the AI had been so damned offended that he'd kept quiet after that for twelve, but whatever.

He just wants _one_ fucking thing to go right.

Is that so bad?

Apparently so.

There's an attack on downtown, something about things growing legs and literally kicking the shit out of whatever they can reach, and Tony has honestly had it up to here with it all. He gets in the suit, JARVIS still a bit snippy and snarking but it's better than the silence he'd only offered before, and completely ignores Steve's shouts as he blasts off the roof of the Tower.

"_Ironman!_" Cap's voice barks through the comms. "_What in the hell do you think you're doing? Wait for back up, that is an order!_"

"No can do, Uncle Sam," he drawls back, and Steve doesn't reply for a minute, more than likely catching on to the hard edge creeping under Tony's tone, before he says, "_Do not engage until we're there. Got it?_"

And, well, Tony doesn't let silence speak for him often, but this seemed like a good a time as any.

"_Ironman!_"

He makes it to downtown a good twenty five minutes ahead of the rest of the team; it would've been thirty five, except Natasha gets edgy when others are thrown into battle before her, so he knows she'll be flying that Quinjet in like a nutjob but still somehow manage to leave any and all buildings in the nearby vicinity completely damage free.

And-yup, there's a particularly vengeful stop sign kicking the ever loving shit out of a four door Sedan parked in the middle of the street, a terrified passenger watching in horror.

There's a ridiculous amount of humor in watching him scramble to lock his doors and roll up the windows, but like a good superhero, he lowers himself to street level and cocks his head to the side.

"Now," he drawls. "I'm not sure, but this seems like a really bad pickup line. Or the opening joke to a political get together shindig that, really, I have _no_ interest in hearing."

It's like the Universe is just laughing at him when the sign turns around and doesn't even try to kick him.

His eyes narrow. "Is this your way of telling me to shut up?"

The stop sign doesn't move. He purses his lips. "Rude." The repulsor blast catches it straight through the 'o', and the sign goes down, metal legs kicking feebly in the air for purchase.

It's pathetically easy to get rid of the rest of the signs. And the mailboxes, and garbage cans, and telephone poles and that one little cellphone that was actually kind of cute and he sort of regretted stomping on. Whatever, it's all so damn_ easy_, he's barely even gotten a work out by the time Natasha lands the Quinjet on a nearby bakery roof and the rest of the team pile out. There's quite a bit more enchanted inanimate objects running about, but Tony is unconcerned with them as Cap strides up to him and snarls.

"You were _suppose_ to wait to engage!" He yells, and Tony cannot help but roll his eyes.

"Yes," he snaps back, voice edging the line of real temper and sarcasm. "Because obviously I cannot handle this." He kicked at the first stop sign, which tried to kick back.

"Thank all of you oh so much for coming to my rescue, I had no idea what I'd have done without you."

Clint's crouched down, poking at the stop sign with a spare arrow. "He's got a point, Captain." When Steve's head snapped towards him, he raised his hands defensively. "Seriously, though, look at these guys. They're pitiful. If I'd have known this, I'd have stayed at the Tower and ate the rest of my cereal instead of letting it get soggy."

"That's not the point," Steve gritted out.

"I'm not interested," Natasha said, utterly deadpan as she neatly sidestepped an oncoming newspaper box. Thor, quite gleefully, knocked it three streets down with Mjornir and kept on going. "I'm going back to the Tower with Bruce. Anyone is welcome to join."

"Hey, where is Bruce?" Clint asked, perking his head up.

"In the Quinjet," she replied, her voice quickly being drowned out by the screech of metal as a stray shot from Thor hit Tony square in the back, sending him sailing through the air with the frantically kicking mailbox before scraping the entire front of himself down the street.

There was a moment of silence, only interrupted by a very familiar roar.

"Was in the Quinjet." Natasha amended, taking two steps back just as Hulk leaped from the building, landing in the street with another deafening roar.

"God damn it Thor," Tony says into the concrete. "What the hell have we told you about aiming before you swing?"

"A thousand pardons, Man of Iron," Thor muttered sheepishly, already edging away from the Hulks striking range. "I vow to think of this in the future battles we will have."

"How many times has he said that?" Clint wondered.

"Every other battle," Steve muttered in reply, raising his voice as he said, "Ironman, status report."

"Just scratched the paint, Cap, get your spangled panties out of a twist. I-whoa! Shit, sit, shit. Hi there, hey, Hulk, how you doin'?"

They watched as Hulk gruffly picked Tony up by his boot, raising him from the ground to dangle in the air as he pressed his face close to the Ironman faceplate.

"No more," he said lowly, eyebrows lowering and mouth turning down in obvious displeasure. "Need talked to."

With a firm whack to the head courtesy of Natasha, Clint kindly refrained his laughter at the indignant sputtering going on over Ironman's speakers.

"I do not-" he began, cutting off only when Hulk growled.

"Need talking," he rumbled, narrowed eyes daring Tony to argue. He didn't.

For now.

"Will get Banner." Hulk went on, looking just the barest bit disgusted with this idea.

"Um," Tony eloquently said; too late, Hulk was already shrinking, shuddering and trembling as muscles and green receded to leave behind a very pale, very naked shivering scientist.

Forgetting he could actually fly, Tony crashed to the street.

Clint's immediate guffaws were not appreciated nor paid any attention to.

"What the hell," the archer gasped, going on even as Tony laid on the ground. Fuck it, he decided. Who needed moving nowadays?

Also, hello perfect view.

"What the hell was that?"

"That," Natasha said mildly. "Was our cue to leave. Doctor Banner; Stark." She turned to go, a hesitant Cap at her heels even as he sent uncertain looks over his shoulder back at them.

"Ten bucks says they'll make up and have sex in the middle of the street." Clint said, throwing them a quick wink as he turned to go, completely missing Tony's one fingered salute in reply.

"I would like to participate in this wager," Thor demanded.

Six point eight minutes later(he counted) Tony and Bruce were watching the Quinjet fly up and away.

"What the fuck." Tony blurted.

Bruce nodded slowly as if to agree, and then seemed to catch himself. Tony told himself he was not absurdly hurt by the motion.

"So," he drawled, hoping the faux casual tone wasn't as blatantly see through as he thought it was. "There's a Sears next door."

"I think we need to have a talk first," he said carefully, and then, anticipating Tony's reaction, went on, "If I leave, you'll just take off." And something in him just fucking splintered.

"No," he hurriedly said. "No, we really don't. Look, news crew will be arriving soon. Let's find you some pants; don't want a repeat of Fox News, right?"

When he made a move to get up, though, Bruce gently put a palm on his chest just beside the arc reactor.

"There are still sentient once-inanimate objects around," he reminded. "They won't show up for a while yet until it's confirmed there's no real threat."

A thought occurred to him. "Son of a bitch." He said. "We were left with cleanup duty."

If the amused, indulgent smile was anything to go by, Bruce had realized this too.

Uncomfortable, Tony ignored the hand on his chest that he could not feel through the armor, okay, that would be weird and also impossible-and raised himself to a sitting position by Bruce.

He did not look down.

...Then again, the faceplate was still down, so maybe he might have. A little. For a second.

He was definitely still not staring, that would be creepy, he-

"I'm sorry," Bruce said.

-wait, what?

It took him a moment-Bruce was right there, okay, he was right there and naked-but Tony wasn't a genius for nothing, so he did his best to shrug. It only served to draw attention to how Bruce had still not moved his hand.

"No big deal." Tony said, using the casual charm he employed n several occasions at galas and charities he truly did not want to be at.

Bruce got that worried look again, the one he sometimes did when he thought Tony wasn't looking, and without even wanting to, Tony got pissed.

What the hell was he worrying about anyway? He shouldn't have had a goddamn care; he told Tony to leave, and Tony did. That was it, it was done, done deal. Why the fuck look like his puppy just got hit by a car then?

Damn it, Tony did what he asked.

What more did he want?

"Anyway," he said coolly. "Coulson's probably on his way now, you know Coulsons, creepy efficient bastard. Sears is still next door, Banner. I'm... Gunna go round up the rest of these fuckers and then head on back to the Tower-"

"I'm _sorry_." Bruce said again, doing that thing Pepper did where she just went on talking like Tony didn't say a damn word.

"I get it," Tony snapped back. "I said no biggie. It was nothing. I get on peoples nerves, okay, Jesus, Bruce, I'm a big boy. Trust me, I can handle it."

He... Hadn't really meant to say that. Oh, Christ, that had not meant to come out.

"You-" Bruce's face was twisted, a cross between shock and rejection, like the kind people feel when they see how reality really is but don't want to accept it, or how Thor's face gets when he's told he can't do something with the microwave. "You think-"

And-God, thank God(Thor?), there was Coulson now, unamused face staring down a cardboard sign that had been propped up for a little cafe when it ran up to kick him. The thing paused, slowly lowered its leg, and backed up. Tony had never been more relieved to see the asshole.

"Later." Tony said hastily, swallowing hard when Bruce's hand instinctively clutched the armor tighter as he rose before falling away completely, and he was off.

* * *

As far as Tony was concerned, it was a good day. He-mostly-managed to avoid Banner, he definitely avoided an awkward talk about emotions, and he was now back in his lab getting things done. Oh yeah, he was getting stuff...

...What the hell was he doing again?

Ugh. Whatever, it involved tech; his hands knew what to do, even if his mind was elsewhere. And, alright, Tony knows that eventually someone is going to come down and he's not going to be able to get out of talking to them, but he could damn well try, right?

'Eventually' comes around the three hour mark that Tony's locked himself down in the lab for the second time. He's a little(okay, a lot) surprised to see that it's Bruce there, standing patiently outside the glass door, arms crossed and eyes closed and looking as if he were taking deep breaths.

"Uh, JARVIS," he said mildly. "What is Bruce doing?"

"_He appears to be employing a well known yoga breathing exercise, Sir._"

"Thanks, smartass. I mean, why is he just standing there?"

"_Doctor Banner requires a word with you._"

For a third of a second, Tony actually contemplates opening the door. Then he snorts.

"Yeah, no. Tint the glass, would you? And magnify this hologram to three hundred-"

"_Override code 3.7B8 accepted._"

To Tony's not so quiet indignation-not horror, thanks and fuck off-the subtle whoosh of the doors followed JARVIS' bland statement. When he glanced up, dread piled in his stomach as the scientist made his way in, the very picture of cool, calm and collected.

Covering up his surprise rather nicely, if he did say so himself, Tony straightened and lazily drawled, "Doctor Banner. What can I do for you-"

"Shut up," Bruce says, and Tony does, if from unexpected surprise at how sharp his tone is than anything else. "Just shut up. You're a _moron_."

And, really, Tony has done this song and dance before, really, except none of the people have ever been Bruce, so he thinks he's a little justified in not knowing quite how to react.

"What?" He gaped.

"You're a moron. You're the smartest goddamn person I know, and you're a complete and utter_ idiot_."

Well, that... Actually kind of stung.

"Okay," he said slowly, as if talking to a child. A child that could turn into a giant green rage monster at the drop of a hat, but a child nonetheless. "Wanna back this train up? 'Cause you've lost me here."

"Idiot," Bruce mutters again, right before he steps up and proceeds to kiss the ever living hell out of him. It's not a nice kiss, not one you would end a romantic date with at the end of the night; it's hard and a little rough in all the right places, his hands burying into Tony's hair to grip and direct his head while teeth nipped and tongue soothed until it's just hot enough that Tony is actually quite certain his brain-not to mention certain parts, if not all, of his anatomy-may combust.

It's only when he's shamelessly gasping into the kiss that Bruce breaks it with, oh, one last quick flick of the tongue that Tony would more than happily chase after if his hair was still not caught. As it was, the motion sends a sharp sting across his scalp that travels down his spine in a way that he is forced to amend his earlier thought that no, yeah, he's definitely about to combust, there's no maybe's about it.

"So," he murmured when he'd actually re-introduced oxygen into his lungs. "Not that that wasn't nice and all, hey, thanks for that, by the way, and I hope you won't take this has negative feedback-I'm pretty sure I'm about to jump your goddamn bones in about, oh, thirty seconds-but what the fuck, Bruce?"

The man laughs quietly, more like a huff of hot air that sweeps over his already overheated skin, glasses crooked and panting just a tiny bit, and he's pretty much lost.

"Um, sorry? I've just, I, I've wanted to do that. For a while now, actually."

"Oh. Wow. Okay, cool, cool, I can work with this, me too."

"You weren't exactly subtle about it." Bruce pointed out dryly, the bastard, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Please. I was extremely subtle about it; considering how my first inclination was always to do utterly sinful things to you to the point you would actually never be able to enter a church again without blushing, I think I should get a goddamn trophy for how subtle I was."

To his endless delight, said blush began to make an appearance just before Bruce ducked his head. "You're probably right," he allowed, and Tony was physically incapable of doing anything else but leering.

"Of course I am." He preened. "You still really haven't answered my question, though."

And because there is honestly not a whole awful lot out there that he wants more than he wants Bruce, he actually leans away from the mans delightfully searching lips(though he will admit to maybe accidentally swaying forward the first try... He's not made of stone, okay?) to arch his eyebrow purposefully. Bruce huffs another laugh, eyes maybe going a shade lighter-and isn't that interesting-at the shiver that invoked.

"And what was your question?" He asked, arching his own eyebrows.

"What the fuck, Bruce?" Tony repeated patiently.

Bruces' expression was utterly confused for perhaps all of three seconds, just before it cleared and he dipped his head, a chagrined smile twisting a little at his mouth. "Yeah," he said a moment later. "Sorry about the moron thing. That was mean."

"Well, jeez, Bruce, I wasn't saying it because I disapproved of the whole name calling thing, though I'll admit the ones I've heard were a bit dirtier than that-" And there, yes, Bruce's eyes definitely were a shade lighter than usual. "-but I was more looking for the reason behind it than the actual act itself."

To his disappointment, the heat of the atmosphere was replaced with a different kind of tension. "At S.H.I.E.L.D.," he began carefully, and there was really no way to hide the way his body tensed in instinct against the memory, damn it all. "When I told you to leave... I didn't do it because I was angry at you. I mean," Here, he snorted. "I was plenty pissed off; at you, too. But that wasn't the reason."

And, honestly, Tony's world tilts when Bruce says, sincerity in every word even as he shrugged loftily, "I was actually about three seconds from throwing you against the wall."

And that...

That was...

Well.

"So," he murmured, leaning in close and watching Bruce jerk back in reflex, his eyes wide and startled. "Feel like exploring that?"


	8. Chapter 8

He actually does not end up having sex with Bruce.

That is a disappointment, and trust him, it wasn't for lack of trying; he'd given it the good ol' Stark effort, and that's nothing to scoff at in the best(worst?) of times.

However, Banner control wins out in the end, and even as he's gasping for air against his workshop table, thoughts derailing even before they really form because goddamn Bruce's hands are on his hips, palms pressed firmly in the dips just before his waistband.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bruce pants, head tipping forward to rest on his shoulder. "Okay, going sort of fast here."

Tony tried to rear back in dismay, the move halted by the scientists firm grip. "This is fast?"

Said scientist huffed out a laugh. "Just a bit. For now. Just for right now."

He groaned. "You're trying to kill me. It's all on purpose; Loki doesn't even have to try anymore, you've taken it upon yourself."

Bruce stilled. "Don't joke, please."

Only slightly apologetic, Tony nuzzled the flesh just under Bruce's jaw until he finally sighed and relaxed.

"We need to talk," he said quietly, leaning back to peer at Tony over his glasses. "All of us. The team, everyone."

"Do I have to?" He muttered. "I'm pretty sure I already filled my 'teamwork' quota for the year."

The corner of Bruce's lips kicked up, and Tony sort of maybe wanted to kiss it. Then he realized he could, so he did.

"Stop trying to distract me," he murmured against Tony's lips. "It won't work."

"Personally, I'm surprised you have any blood to spare for that big, sexy brain of yours," Tony admits. "'Cause, yeah, all mine's gone deep South."

"You're so crude," he laughed quietly, which, Tony didn't think he really had any foot to stand on in that regard when Bruce was doing truly unadulterated, sinful things with his tongue a moment later.

When he pulled away, Tony went to follow this time because, oh, hell yes.

"Talking," Bruce said firmly, and his willpower was awe-inspiring, it really was, but Tony was about ready to break it down with his damn face if he had to.

"Don't wanna." He whimpered, and, oh, Bruce shuddered hard at the sound, that was, yes, that was very interesting.

"_Sir._"

"Not now, JARVIS." To Bruce now," Ten minutes? I can do a lot in tern minutes. I can multitask, I've got great focus on more than one thing at a time." He eyebrows went up.

Bruces' lips twitched. "No."

"_Ah, Sir, I really must interrupt-_"

"Put it on ice, JARV. Five minutes?"

"No."

"I'm ambidextrous," he singsonged.

Bruce laughed outright now. "_No._"

"_Sir-ah. Nevermind._"

The door whooshed open, and Tony craned his neck around to the horrified, painful squeak that sounded a moment later. "Oh. Hey, Cap."

The scientist pressed against his front choked, head falling forward once again.

"I-I'm sorry," Steve stuttered, stumbling back and knocking over a miniature mountain of tools. Dummy whirred excitedly, wheeling in three quick circles before grabbing a rag and zipping over.

"Dummy-no, you, pick up the tools, don't dust them off, Christ." Tony said mildly. "Cap, calm down, you're not cockblocking any more than Bruce already has, stop freaking out."

That earned him a sharp reprimanding bite through his teeshirt just above his collarbone. He yelped.

Steve fairly flew out of the workshop, shouting embarrassed apologies.

"Well," Bruce said, leaning back, cheeks red and ignoring Tony's offended whining as he rubbed at the sore mark over his shirt. "That will makes things nice and awkward."

"Better than the time Thor kissed everyone in post battle victory."

"Only just."

They make it upstairs-eventually, of course, Tony's got quick fingers and it's really Bruce's fault for wearing clothes a size too big for him-to the hoots of Clint and hollers of Thor, and that shouldn't have been as surprising as it was.

"Do you people have nothing better to do?" Tony demanded, settling himself sprawled over Bruce on the couch. The scientist took the invasion of personal space with a self-sacrificing air. In the armchair, Natasha shrugged gracefully, legs crossed and resting across Clint's shoulder who was leaned against the chair.

"Supernatural doesn't come on for another hour," she said.

Everything became unnaturally still when Steve walked in, eyes widening to saucers and shoulders hunching forward as if he was just called on in class before spinning on his heel and leaving the room as rapidly as he entered.

They stared after him.

"You guys broke Steve, didn't you?" Clint asked mildly.

"Maybe," Tony muttered, stretching out the word as he stared curiously after the soldier. "How much do you think Fury will live up to his name when he finds out?"

"On a scale of one to ten?" The archer tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Forty seven."

"Figures. Just, nobody tell Pepper, okay, I've gotten away with a lot of shit, trust me, a _lot _of shit, but I don't think I can get away with breaking Captain America." He hummed. "Would look great on a resume, though."

"How do you even know what that is?" Bruce asked, amused.

"Blow me." He replied cheerfully.

"Later, darling."

And there went Clint, loudly complaining about _mental fucking images and really, you two, really, that's how this is going to be? Fuck, fuck you both, he's done, he's moving out._

"Don't let JARVIS smack your ass on the way out," Tony calls after him. "No, seriously, he will, he has this thing-"

The faint sound of a door_ whooshing _closed is followed very shortly by a startled and terribly unmanly yelp.

"I like your version of team-meetings," Tony said, all loose limbs and satisfied smile, completely ignoring Bruce's answering facepalm. "This is definitely more fun than how I thought this was going to go."

Natasha snorted.

It turns out, and Tony really shouldn't have been so surprised, but Bruce was one sneaky fuck, three days later they were all crowding around him in his _own workshop_, plopping their asses down wherever they pleased-"I wouldn't crouch there if I were you, Buckbeak, no, seriously, that can actually explode, _move _your ass-"-and staring at him expectantly.

"Um," Tony said, tone mild as he held the still-lit blowtorch aloft over the spare pieces of metal scattered over his table. "...Sup, everyone."

"Bruce called team-meeting." Steve said promptly, spine ramrod straight and eyes meeting Tony's resolutely, completely earnest and concerned. In reply, Tony's neck snapped around harshly to stare unblinking, accusingly, at Bruce.

He shrugged.

"You're lucky you do that thing with your tongue," Tony grumbled, feeling slightly better about the situation overall when a resulting choked noise escaped Steve, whose face was turning brilliantly red. Before he could go on and into great detail about Bruce's many, many oral-related talents to the flustered super soldier, Bruce interrupted, voice mild but cheeks tinged an enticing pink.

"Do you think we could keep on track here for once?"

Clint, the bastard, said, "I doubt it."

Resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the archer(though he didn't quell the instinct to flip him off, and was rewarded with a very toothy and not at all comforting smile), Tony settled himself down in his chair and spun back and forth absently in it, head and arms angled over the back of the chair as he stared at the ceiling.

"Okay, so, well, how do we start this party?" He asked, glancing out of the corner of his eye on the next spin at Steve.

"We need to figure out a game plan on what to do about Loki." Steve said immediately, hands clasped so goddamn earnestly in his lap that Tony sort of wanted to get him a goddamn apple pie made from scratch. "Because every battle we've gone into, you've been separated, physically or on the comm. That's not okay, Tony."

He can see where this is going, can hear those apologetic words already ringing in his ears, the sympathetic looks he'll get from Thor and Steve, and grits his teeth hard.

"I sort of deduced that for myself, Cap," he says, forced pleasantness, and he can almost feel Bruce's presence behind him as the man shifted. "As far as I can tell, the-ugh, the _magic_-that Loki is using to hack the comms is... Like a timer, kind of? Think, hm, think of a specified time period, okay? Say, an hour.

Now, say Loki cuts the comm. Can't talk to you, you can't talk to me, because Loki is literally in there, in the system, blocking the transmission, talking to whoever, just essentially doing whatever he damn well pleases."

Tony lolls his head over to Thor who is dwarfing Tony's rather large and comfortably plush sofa, eyes narrowed at the god who was hunching his shoulders and opening his mouth to speak. He pointed a lazy finger at him. "And you. Don't apologize. Trust me, fucked up family dynamics? Not exactly a tune we haven't heard before." Satisfied when the god looked dubious but nonetheless shut his mouth, Tony went on. "Okay... Where was I?"

"Loki in the system," Natasha murmured, smirking the faintest bit from where she was cocking a hip against the same table Clint was sitting on, one leg pulled up to his chest. Tony beamed at her.

"Right! Loki in the system. So, he's in the system, he's doing whatever the hell he wants-I don't know how far his reach goes, yet, we've only been testing the comms and some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. computers, but my guess? He's targeting most of my tech, the asshole-and then he leaves. But, see, I had JARVIS run a few tests last time crazy face decided to call, and he found something interesting. JARV?"

"_Thank you, Sir. From my tests, the traces of Loki's signature on the commlink line were still there well after he disconnected from Sir's radio and the system._"

"So what you're saying," Bruce began, voice low and hand raised to press the curled length of his forefinger against his mouth thoughtfully. "Is that the, the connection, between Loki's magic and the computers was still there. Like a telephone, where both phones are off the hook and just sitting on the table."

Tony sends him a '_You are so smart, I knew I wanted to grind you into the mattress for a reason_' look.

The look he gets back is utterly unimpressed and maybe just a little bit turned on. He preens.

"Jesus Christ, you two," Clint mutters.

Tony did not resist flipping him off; it was totally worth Steve's disapproving frown. "So what you're saying is," Steve went on, looking thoughtful now. "Is that Loki... Was still connected to the system?"

"Not Loki, per se. Everything... Has a signature, right? Like, well, like a personal touch. When Loki's there, it's different. Sort of spastic. But there's a signature under that, and when Loki leaves, that second signature still remains."

"Okay," Clint drawled, looking edgy. "Is there any way you could explain this in simpler terms? I don't think Thor's getting it."

Said God of Thunder gave the archer an extremely offended look. "I am 'getting' all of it, as you say, Hawkman." And, oh, Clint must've really pissed him off with that comment. Thor hadn't called him Hawkman since he returned back from Asgard to assure them all of Loki's imprisonment.

So much for that, but still.

Clint winced, but Thor went on, eyebrow arched and voice condescending in a way that they had almost never heard from the warrior. "What the Man of Iron is saying," he said coolly. "Is that Loki is using magic to access our communications. His magic has a certain amount of time before it expires. Before the magics time runs out, Loki may enter whatever the magic is in touch with as he pleases."

Tony fairly beamed. "Exactly."

A shuffling and muffled curse brought their attention to Clint, who was glaring at an expectant looking Natasha who still had her elbow raised up to his ribs.

"Sorry, Thor," he muttered petulantly, not sounding very sorry at all. The God smiled, serene.

"Of course, Hawkman."

Tony doesn't even bother to muffle a snort, and it's, big surprise, Steve who attempts to get them back on track.

"So it's magic." He says, spreading his hands. "And it's directed against Tony."

Ah, they've made a circle, have they? Fine, Tony can play this game.

"I'm not going to be benched." He says, tone final, and can feel Bruce jerk behind him. Thor murmured a quiet, "Aye." Clint looks like he swallowed something nasty, Natasha is coolly inspecting her nails, and Steve just sighs.

"I'm not suggesting you be benched." Steve said, and, well, that sort of left Tony blinking. "I'm saying that we need to figure out a way for you to be _safe_."

What the hell was he suppose to say to _that_?

"Uh." He manages, and if Tony sounds a little dazed, whatever, okay, no one mentions it. "Am I not?"

"How're your ribs, Stark?" Natasha asks idly, still studying her nails, and Tony flinches instinctively away, arms curling protectively over his torso.

"Fine. Totally fine. Just dandy. Don't come near me, please."

She smiles.

Steve speaks up once more, voice serious and just a little mischievous, and that's nearly as scary as Natasha smiling.

"We need a plan."


End file.
